


A Uniquely Human Principle

by DespiteWhatShouldBeOtherwise



Category: Fate/Grand Order, Fate/Zero, Fate/stay night & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Continuity: Nobody remembers old grail wars, Alternating Perspectives, Eventual Romance, I’ll let you be the judge of that, Light Angst, M/M, Mutual Pining, Possibly some ooc-ness, Reunions, no beta we die like men!
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-31
Updated: 2021-02-07
Packaged: 2021-03-06 21:06:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 45,256
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26225395
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DespiteWhatShouldBeOtherwise/pseuds/DespiteWhatShouldBeOtherwise
Summary: While Lord El-Melloi II’s initial summoning had been somewhat hectic, filled with fire, brimstone and the wreckage of a city he’d hoped to never see again, his introduction to Chaldea itself was an event with little fanfare. There had been the minor issue of the entirety of humanity going up in flames but all things considered, Lord El-Melloi II had more or less settled into a rather comfortable niche in the following weeks.And then Iskandar was summoned sometime later...
Relationships: Iskandar | Rider/Waver Velvet
Comments: 146
Kudos: 183





	1. The Caster

**Author's Note:**

> So... Remember how I mentioned I had a project with an actual-sorta-deadline? Well here it is. In celebration of Accel Zero Order’s rerun, I have enough chapters to post one a day for every day of the event. You’re welcome. A quick note before beginning, I decided to set this in an alternate continuity of sorts. Nothing too huge is out of place, but Servants summoned to Chaldea don’t remember previous summons. The reason for that will be explained later. As always, comments and criticism are very welcome, even if you’re just telling me I can’t write worth a damn! In the meantime, I hope you enjoy the story!

While Lord El-Melloi II’s initial summoning had been somewhat hectic, filled with fire, brimstone and the wreckage of a city he’d hoped to never see again, his introduction to Chaldea itself was an event with little fanfare. He’d introduced himself properly, Ritsuka Fujimaru had introduced herself properly, he’d been given a brief tour of the facility and that had been that. There had been the minor issue of the entirety of humanity going up in flames but all things considered, Lord El-Melloi II had more or less settled into a rather comfortable niche in the following weeks. That being said, there were some things about his current living arrangements that did not sit well with him at all. Some were inconsequential, like the fact that _he_ was now a Servant, expected to bend to the every whim of a Master. Thank goodness he’d nipped _that_ in the bud on day one. And all it really took was a clear statement that he was not there to “serve” Ritsuka, title notwithstanding, that there was only one person he would ever devote himself to, but he was more than willing to “collaborate” with her. Ritsuka, for the most part, had taken his proclamation in stride and had welcomed him to Chaldea with open arms. Besides, she wasn’t the type to insist upon being called “Master” by anyone. However, Lord El-Melloi II's other issues with Chaldea were not so easily solved.

For starters, several of the other Servants were almost downright unbearable to live with for any extended period of time. Andersen and Shakespere continuously tried to pass their work off to the higher level Casters, (namely him…) claiming they had “deadlines” to worry about. Spartacus had to be convinced on an almost daily basis that just because Ritsuka technically held the title of “Master,” it did NOT make her an oppressor, (if anything, she had to be reminded that she _was_ their Master and that she could have complete control over the Servants if she wished). And he couldn’t explain enough how much he didn’t want to be in the same room, on the same team, or much less in the same reality as Gilles de Rais whether he had made a change to the Saber Class or not.

On another note, Lord El-Melloi II was not permitted to leave Chaldea. Neither were the other Servants. True, the Servants were dependent on Chaldea itself rather than Ritsuka to sustain their forms in this world. True, the facility was located in Antarctica and there wasn’t much around to see anyway and it was highly unlikely that even Servants would get very far in the hostile environment. True, it made sense they would not be able to leave. But all the rational explanations in the world did little to ease the sense of longing Lord El-Melloi II felt whenever he returned to the facility from the latest Singularity, greeted with white walls and the view of snow and ice and clouds through windows.

Still, for all his complaints, he’d managed to find a little niche for himself as Chaldea’s resident Strategist, Professor, and semi-permanent dweller of the Records Room. It wasn’t like there weren’t other things to do with his second life. When not threatening to end human history, the Singularities and battles within them were entertaining enough, not to mention a valuable source of materials. The Library was always open to anyone who wished to find out more about this new world they’d found themselves thrust into. He had his own room if he desired time to himself, and after fighting together he could consider a few other Servants good company (he had yet to actually _do_ any of the aforementioned activities, but he _could_ and that was the important thing). But rather than the Library or the Singularities, it seemed the main source of entertainment for Servants came from the Summoning Board. At first, he’d resisted when Leonardo DaVinci herself (yet something else he’d have to get used to) dragged him to the hall. He’d insisted that his time was better spent elsewhere and he’d find out what new Servants were summoned when Ritsuka introduced them. However, after witnessing the inventor’s determination first hand, he realized that she wasn’t going to let him be and that it may be less hassle to just give in.

“She’s going to pull nothing but Craft Essences this time.” Lord El-Melloi muttered, hand rubbing his chin in thought. Sitting beside him, DaVinci heaved out a weighted sigh.

“I wish you wouldn’t put it like that Professor. The idea of all that Quartz going to waste is just too depressing to think about.” She glanced back at the board as the murmur of other Servants reached a low hum. From what little amount Lord El-Melloi II could hear of their conversations, they mostly agreed with his analysis. Craft Essences across the board. Well, aside from DaVinci. “She’s got to pull at least a Silver this time…” The Shopkeeper declared, her weary expression switching to one of determination, as though she had any control over who or what Ritsuka summoned.

Sometimes, the Lord wondered if his Master- no, he still wasn’t used to that- if Ristuka actually knew about the second use her Servants had found for the Summoning Board. Oh she knew about the board itself, that was for sure. After all, she’d been the one who showed it to him when he’d first been summoned. Back then, she’d framed it as a way to keep the other Servants informed about their newest allies in a timely manner. But he really wondered if she ever suspected that her loyal Servants, the Shopkeeper and even the good Doctor turned Director placed bets on how poorly her attempts were going to go.

“With the luck she’s been having lately, I doubt it.” He replied. “I stand by my original bet. Craft Essences and nothing else.” DaVinci nodded in response, her usual smile gracing her face and held out her hand.

“And I say she’ll pull at least one or two Silver Servants.” They shook on it before turning to address the other, silent member of their conversation. “What do you say, Diarmuid?”

That had been something else for Lord El-Melloi II to get used to; Servants who had tried to kill him at one point, had now become his allies and comrades in arms. It probably helped that the other Servants were incapable of remembering their previous summonings. Diarmuid hadn’t been so bad, and more than once, the Caster had found himself engaging the Lancer in a deep conversation during visits to the record room. Hassan-i-Sabbah was definitely a strange individual, but for now she, (he?) they hadn’t seemed to notice him at all. And it seemed as though changing his class from Caster to Saber resulted in Gilles de Rais maintaining a far better handle on his mental facilities. That being said, he still felt a small shudder of revulsion every time Ritsuka put them together in a party. So long as that Golden Archer didn’t-

No.

Lord El-Melloi II turned his attention back to his gambling partners and whatever bet Diarmuid was going to make. He was not going to think about that arrogant Golden Archer or the last time they’d met face to face. He was not going to think about that city or that ordeal or how poorly and shamefully he’d conducted himself back then. He was going to focus on gambling and winning and that was the end of it. Unaware of the Caster’s inner monologue, the Lancer hummed for a moment as he considered the odds before him.

“Getting involved in a bet between the Monster of Rationalism and a Natural Born Genius…” He murmured before letting out an absolutely miserable sigh. “I’m out.”

“Oh come on, what do you have to lose?” DaVinci had a point. Servants didn’t have any sort of currency to bet with. And even if they did, it wasn’t like they could actually purchase anything with it. The only thing they had left to bet with was pride and the right to brag. Either Diarmuid decided that such a right was worth a gamble or he’d given up in order to get DaVinci off his back.

“Fine.” He grumbled in defeat. “I say that Master Ritsuka will draw at least one Five Star Servant from the next pull.” Or he’d thrown all caution to the wind to bet on the least likely outcome. That was his choice to make. Beside them, DaVinci’s eyebrows shot up at the audacity of the Lancer’s claim before giving a chuckle and patting Diarmuid on the back.

“Well, now we know what not to bet on!” It certainly seemed like an impossible gamble. Not only had Ritsuka run into a spell of bad luck regarding her summoning, but Diarmuid’s notorious “Luck of the Lancer” ensured that any gamble or bet he made would almost certainly be doomed to fail from the get-go.

Even so, staking a bet on such impossible odds…

Lord El-Melloi II could appreciate the spirit of that.

“Well,” he interjected. “Ritsuka did manage to summon a rare Class Servant as early as the Fuyuki Singularity…” DaVinci opened her mouth, probably to start a debate as to whether or not the summoning of Salieri could count as “lucky” when a low ring sounded through the meeting hall and the murmur of conversation died down as all attention turned to the board.

Ritsuka had gotten started.

Three pulls down, seven to go and Lord El-Melloi II was feeling rather secure in his claim. He also felt a small twinge of guilt that he was technically benefiting from Ritsuka’s misfortune, but it was only a small twinge. Then fate turned against him as the fourth pull revealed the Silver card of a Servant. Gaius Julius Caesar. Well so much for bragging rights. Over Caesar’s boasting about how his Noble Phantasm would be even stronger now, Lord El-Melloi II could just barely hear DaVinci snicker next to him and he shot her a glare.

“That doesn’t count.” He protested. “It’s a Servant who’s already been summoned.”

“Your words were “nothing but Craft Essences.” Damn it Diarmuid, he might have made a convincing argument if the Lancer had kept his mouth shut. DaVinci gave the other Caster a victorious laugh and a good natured pat on the back.

“Don’t be a sore loser El-Melloi.” She scolded him gently and El-Melloi winced in a way that had nothing to do with the mechanical arm digging into his shoulder.

“The Second dammit…” He wondered if there would ever come a day where the other Servants would get the hint and include the addendum to his name. It seemed rather unlikely, so he let the issue go and turned back to look at the Summoning Board. Two more Craft Essences. An Ember of Wisdom for a lucky Berserker, another Amadeus Mozart (coupled with a howl of rage from Salieri), yet another Craft Essence and soon there was only one more pull to go.

“Wanna bet it’s gonna be another Silver?” El-Melloi ignored DaVinci’s goad; he could accept one defeat for today.

And then a bright glow overtook the screen as a gold card came into view.

No…

It couldn’t be…

All around, the Servants and staff gaped at the board, absolutely gobsmacked by the turn of events. In all of Ritsuka’s time at Chaldea, she’d only managed to pull a few Gold Servants. El-Melloi had been one of them, then an Archer by the name of Emiya, Beowulf the Berserker, an Assassin who refused to give her true name but claimed to be “from the Nightless City” and that was it. Of all the things that could have happened today, no one expected this. No one expected Ritsuka to pull a Five Star Servant.

And absolutely no one expected Diarmuid Ua Duibhne to actually win a bet.

From somewhere next to him, El-Melloi was aware of DaVinci opening and closing her mouth in complete shock.

“That’s-”

“A Five Star Rider…” The Lancer finished her thought as the Servant’s class became clear. For a moment, no one spoke. It almost seemed as though no one could breath from the sheer impossibility of what they were witnessing. Then DaVinci rounded on Diarmuid with fury and accusation burning in her eyes.

“Diarmuid Ua Duibhne have you been cheating?”

“How would I even cheat at the Summoning Board?” If their conversation continued after that point, El-Melloi took no notice of it. He was too preoccupied with the fact that a Five Star Rider was coming to Chaldea.

 _That’s…_ His fists clenched on his thighs as he waited to see which Servant Ritsuka had summoned. _That can’t be…_ It might not mean anything. There were other Five Star Riders out there; Achilles, Miss Drake, that Queen Medb lady. This didn’t mean that it was _him._ It just meant-

And then the Servant’s name and Portrait appeared.

And then everything else faded into the background as the world seemed to zero in on the Summoning Board.

And some part of Lord El-Melloi II, some long buried part that he thought he’d left behind sometime ago, jolted back to life.

“Hey, where are you off to?” El-Melloi had barely realized that he’d stood and begun walking until someone called out for him. Whether it was DaVinci or Diarmuid, he couldn’t quite tell. And if he was being completely honest, he didn’t really care. He was too preoccupied with trying to organize his thoughts into some semblance of coherence.

 _Is it you?_ From elsewhere, he heard someone’s footsteps quicken and click on the floor beneath him. Maybe he passed another Servant or two. He didn’t notice.

 _Are you really here?_ His steps quickened even further and he could feel his lungs and eyes begin to burn either from the increased physical activity or from an outside force, some form of higher power compelling him to make haste, to hurry towards the Summoning Room, towards Ritsuka, towards the newly summoned Servant, towards the prospect of a wide smile, a strong hand at his back and a warm laugh that he could still feel deep in his bones even after its owner had long since faded from the world.

_Rider?_

He began to run.


	2. The Rider

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The King heeds a summons.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New Chapter, a little later than I thought it would be. We switch POVs in this chapter, I’ll add it to the tags once this is posted. Thanks for reading, hope you enjoy the new Chapter!

_The King of Conquerors knew of shapes and shadows. Visions that fell apart if he attempted to focus on them. A small field of large boxes next to a river, a deep cavern lit by a flickering green light, a small wooden room, a river and a monster, a forest, a red bridge, a golden glow, a smaller body beside his, the scent of blood, the sound of the ocean, the feeling of something piercing his chest and a deep, almost foreign sense of regret and longing and melancholy. Perhaps they had once been memories as clear and real as sky and sand. Perhaps they once held some kind of meaning to him._

_The King of Conquerors knew of a deep and endless darkness, floating weightless and the images of before fading into that darkness. He couldn’t tell when the images and memories had begun to fade away, only that their loss left him indignant, enraged, almost fearful. Then the fear and the rage had ebbed and lessened as more and more of the memories faded. The cavern, the room, the river, the forest, the bridge, the body, the golden glow. He’d struggled in vain to keep them in his mind’s eye, to remember why they were important and why he needed to remember them. The cavern, the room, the forest, the body, the bridge. More and more they faded into the void around him until almost nothing was left and he couldn’t quite recall what made them important in the first place. The cavern, the room, the body next to his… Why had he held such things dear? Why had he struggled to hold onto such things?_

_After everything was gone, the King of Conquerors knew of nothing at all._

_Then, he knew of a brilliant light, the pull of a Summoning,_ and Iskandar stepped into the strange new world. 

The first order of business was to take stock of his Master. She was young, far too young to be involved in any sort of war. And with the way her amber eyes gazed at him from where she’d fallen to the floor, wide with awe and shock, she had not expected him to heed her summons. It seemed he would be working with an inexperienced Mage who held little faith in her own abilities. What better way to put those fears to rest than declare her worth? 

“Hoh, you’ve done well to summon me!” He proclaimed with a wide smile and his Master gave a start as his voice boomed through the room. It wasn’t even a lie. She had truly done well. “Iskandar, King of Conquerors, shall carve out your path!” For a moment, the girl did nothing but stare at him from her place on the floor. 

“Iskandar, King of Conquerors…” She repeated and broke into a smile of her own. With barely a trace of her earlier hesitance, she sprang up and grabbed his hands. “Thank you so much for coming, I really appreciate it!” Iskandar couldn’t ever recall being thanked for answering a Master’s summons. Then again, he couldn’t exactly remember any of his other summons or whether or not he’d even _been_ summoned by anyone before. The girl paid no mind to the abnormality of her thanks and simply continued rambling. “I mean, I really _really_ needed another Five-Star, the Singularities have been getting harder and harder, what will all the Assassin Class enemies. Still, I was kind of hoping for another Lancer. Poor Diarmuid’s the only one I’ve managed to summon so far and he’s been so overworked because of that and-” 

“Worry not.” He cut her off and pulled his hands free to give the girl a pat on the back that sent her tumbling to the floor once again. “I assume you are to be my Master?” The girl popped back to her feet, still smiling brightly. 

“Yes. I’m Ritsuka Fujimaru, the Master here at Chaldea.” Iskandar hummed and cast his thoughts back to his first life, to his conquest and his travels. 

“Strange… I’ve met men calling themselves the Chaldeans in my previous life, but this place looks nothing like Babylon…” He glanced at his surroundings, trying to take everything in. This was the only room he’d seen so far, but the metallic sheen of the white material it was made of was a far cry from the familiar stone and clay. His Master, Ritsuka, looked around with him as though looking for what he found so unfamiliar. 

“Oh, you’re probably thinking of a different Chaldea…” She replied before launching into an explanation. He stalled and listened as Ritsuka Fujimaru told him about the Chaldea Security Organization, about the incineration of humanity, the Grand Order, her summoning of other Heroic Spirits (how could such a thing be possible?), and of their mission to rectify human history. Iskandar said nothing the whole time, nodding on occasion to show he was still listening to Ritsuka’s every word. Odd circumstance or not, he’d been summoned for a war; if he was to truly conquer this era, he would need every piece of information he could get. 

“I see…” Iskandar murmured at the end of her speech. “This is shaping up to be a rather strange Grail War…” Indeed, the idea of a single Master summoning multiple Heroic Servants was almost unheard of and he wondered where the girl had ever gotten the idea that she was an average Mage from. 

“Strange is one way to put it. ” Ritsuka nodded in agreement and strode towards the door. At least, he _thought_ it was a door; he couldn’t quite was tell. “In any case, let me show you around. I need to find Caesar and Amadeus too…” Finally, it was time to leave this room! With a widening grin, Iskandar walked forward to join Ritsuka next to the section of the wall that may or may not be a door. 

“Then let us be off, Master!” Before they could be off, a section of the wall slid open ( _so it was a door after all…_ ) to reveal what looked like a thick mop of dark hair atop a dark suit doubled over, panting and wheezing around the words it was trying to say. 

“Ritsu… Summon… Rider…” Whatever message it was trying to convey through his gasping, Ritsuka apparently got it loud and clear. 

“Yeah! I actually pulled a Five-Star Rider this time, Professor!” Her proud grin turned into a concerned smile and she bent forward to try and peer through the curtain of hair. “Did you run all the way here?” The Professor took several gasps before lifting his head to reveal a long face, sharp features flushed from either exertion or embarrassment. 

“Maybe…” He huffed, straightened his glasses and Iskandar stepped forward to get a better look. Was this man, this “Professor,” another Servant? And if so, why was he so exhausted simply from running? Perhaps his talents lay elsewhere. 

“I take it this is one of our allies in the ongoing war?” Iskandar asked. Given how the other man was still doubled over and breathing heavily, Ritsuka took over answering for him. 

“Something like that. This is Lord El-Melloi II.” She paused, a confused frown overtaking her face. “Or are you Zhuge Liang? Anyway, he’s a Pseudo-Servant and our resident strategist.” 

When he thought back on the encounter later, Iskandar would recall the other details of Ritsuka’s introduction; that the other man was something called a Pseudo-Servant, that he was a strategist, that he also went by the name “Zhuge Liang” apparently. In that moment however, his focus was pulled to a single, innocuous detail of the man before him. 

_El-Melloi…_ As though it was an instinct long ingrained in him, Iskandar felt an odd sense of disgust and disdain rising in his throat at the mere thought of the name. 

_El-Melloi…_ And before he could stop it, the Rider felt his expression darken and turn into a glower. “I see…” He murmured. As though she could sense his falling mood, Ritsuka tried to put in a good word for the other Servant. 

“I know he doesn’t look like much, but he’s actually one of the strongest Caster we’ve got right now!” Having caught his breath, El-Melloi straightened to fix her with a mild glare and a light “Shut up…” He then turned towards the other man, mouth opened as though he was about to say something, as though he had anything worth saying to him. Iskandar was not keen to hear any of it. 

“If he’s supposed to be one of your strongest,” He said without bothering to hide his scorn, “then the state of your other Casters must be abysmal…” He only got a brief look at the other man’s face as he brushed past him into the hallway. Shock and something akin to hurt, likely due to a bruised ego, were evident in his expression and Iskandar had the passing thought that perhaps he was being unnecessarily cruel to the strategist he’d only just met. No matter. There were more important things to attend to. “Shall we go Master?” Not bothering to wait for her answer, he picked a direction and walked away leaving Ritsuka to catch up. 

“Uh, sure thing.” His Master jogged after him, calling a quick apology and goodbye over her shoulder to the Strategist. 

The following tour was enough to put the sour first impression out of Iskandar’s mind for some time. Ritsuka took great care in showing him everything Chaldea had to offer; from the Summoning Board to SHEBA, the Records Room and the Library to Dining Hall, Iskandar found himself engrossed and attempting to take in as much as he could. That wasn’t even counting the other Servants they’d encountered. Warriors, soldiers, even artists and musicians. There seemed to be no end to the variety of allies Ritsuka had summoned, the amount of men and women and anything else he could invite to join his forces after this great war had ended (most of whom refused his offer), and Iskandar only imagined the possibilities and conquests that lay ahead of them. He’d almost completely forgotten his encounter outside the Summoning Room until Ritsuka spoke up while showing him to his quarters. 

“Hey, about Lord El-Melloi…” Iskandar glanced down to find that his Master’s usual smile had been replaced with a stern look. “You don’t have to be best friends with him, but just remember that you’re on the same team now.” He nodded, considering her words. 

“So you want me to refrain from antagonizing him.” He murmured. On the surface, it didn’t seem like an impossible order… For the sake of continued victory, he could manage her request. It wasn’t as though he’d gotten along with every single one of his allies during his reign as king, and some of his generals and satraps had been downright unpleasant. Even so… “In my experience,” he answered, brow furrowed and frown returning to his face. “most tacticians are rather keen to plan battles that they’ll never see with their own eyes…” Ritsuka surprised him by actually pausing to laugh at the statement. 

“Oh, if that’s the case, you don’t have anything to worry about!” Well, she seemed confident. And what had she said earlier? That the “El-Melloi” fellow was her strongest Caster? Obviously his Master trusted the Strategist and held him in such high regard. And yet Iskandar could not stop himself from rolling his eyes and crossing his arms. 

“Hmph. Even so…” There was no explanation for such a strong reaction, no obvious reason for his disdain and displeasure at the mere thought of the man named “El-Melloi.” At least, none that made itself obvious to him. Closing his eyes, Iskandar cast his mind around, searching for something that could explain why he seemed to despise the other man so soon after meeting him. The King of Conquerors couldn’t think of anything clear, but something came to him for a brief second, fleeing before he could pin them down into something substantial. A field of boxes by a river, the clash of blades, and the smug, condescending voice of a man who’d done little more than hide in the shadows. And then he opened his eyes and shrugged dismissively. “I just don’t like him for some reason…” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know Ritsuka/Gudako/whatever you call her doesn’t have much characterization in cannon. I like to think of her as a bit of a ditz, but she means well. That will be very evident in later chapters. I can’t really do special thanks for comments on the last chapter, so I’ll just say thank you to pulopio, Hiezen_Uchiha, and the 6 guests who left kudos! I’ll also thank Doublefallen and chalked for bookmarking! Hope you enjoyed and I’ll see you in the next chapter!


	3. The Aftermath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lord El-Melloi handles the aftermath of a short reunion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I nearly forgot to post this chapter today. Sorry about that! We also get Mash's first appearance in this chapter and some possible OOC-ness... As always, comments and criticism of all kind is always welcome! thanks for reading and I hope you enjoy the chapter!

Despite his (extremely baffling) reputation as one of the most desirable bachelors of the Clock Tower, Lord El-Melloi II would have never described himself as “romantic.” In fact, he was proud to say that his temperament had been quite the opposite; rational, uncompromising, and maybe he’d been a bit too strict with some of his students but as long as that kept them in line did it really matter? Even so, it seemed there was still some trace of a starry eyed youth left in him that the Clock Tower and the Association hadn’t been able to snuff out. Every time he thought about the unlikely event of a reunion with his former Servant, El-Melloi could not help but imagine a heartfelt scene filled with fond reminiscing, assurances that he was no longer the spoiled child he’d once been, a pat on the back, maybe even a flick to the forehead. Anything could have happened and El-Melloi imagined that he would have been perfectly content with it so long as Rider was there.

In all the scenarios he’d imagined, he hadn’t thought that he would meet with Rider while he was wheezing, barely able to speak and apparently seeming so pathetic that even the King of Conquerors would look at him with such contempt. He hadn’t known what to say when Iskandar swept past him with Ritsuka to give the courtesy tour around Chaldea. He hadn’t known what to say when he was frozen, gobsmacked, in the Summoning Room after they’d left. It was only when he was alone, pacing a mercifully empty hall, that something came to him. And of course, he was stuck ranting to an empty wall.

“-insulting my abilities as a Caster-”

“-no sense of tact, as per usual-”

“-wouldn’t even look at me-” At the end of his diatribe (it was _not_ a tantrum), El-Melloi stopped pacing to pinch his nose and huff out a sigh in frustration. He thought he was beyond such displays of immaturity. Thank the Lord no one had witnessed it.

“Umm…” He froze. Agonizingly slow, El-Melloi turned around to find one Mash Kyrielight peering at him from behind a corner. “Is everything alright Professor?” She asked softly, as though taking care not to agitate him any further. Well fuck. He cleared his throat and straightened his back, trying to maintain some kind of dignity.

“Yes Ms. Kyrielight.” He replied. “Just venting to myself. I’m sorry you had witness that…” Appeased by the answer, Mash stepped fully into the hallway now that it was evident the Lord was not going to bite her head off for witnessing his tirade (still wasn’t a tantrum).

“Was someone bothering you?” She asked and El-Melloi shook his head.  
“No, not quite. I was merely trying to assess the abilities of Ritsuka’s newly summoned Servant, and I believe I may have made an ass of myself in the process.” She winced slightly at his use of profanity, but said nothing and merely came to a stop beside him.

“The new Rider?” He nodded and she gave him a warm, encouraging smile. “Well, that doesn’t sound so bad. I mean, it’s not like you two knew each other in your previous lives.” She hesitated, noticed El-Melloi wasn’t smiling back and her expression shifted to one of concern. “You didn’t know each other in your previous lives, did you?” The older man sighed as his expression shifted from annoyed to grim. And therein lay the problem that had hounded him from the day he’d been summoned.

Out of all the Servants Ritsuka had drawn to Chaldea, El-Melloi had been able to recognize three without any introduction; Diarmuid Ua Duibhne, Gilles de Rais, and the many faces of Hassan-i-Sabbah. And yet, from what he could tell, not a single one of them recalled anything about Fuyuki or the Fourth Holy Grail War at all. In fact, none of the Servants he’d spoken to about the subject had recalled anything about previous summonings. As far as they were concerned, this was the first time any of them had been bound to a Master. And as far as El-Melloi was concerned, that was perfectly fine. If those Servants didn’t remember the War, he was perfectly fine with that and he was perfectly fine putting it as far from his mind as possible…

“Something like that. I’d rather not go into detail and it’s not very significant in the long run…” For a second, Mash looked as though she wanted to protest and ask him to explain. Instead, she merely bowed her head respectfully.

“If you say so Professor…” For a while, they remained side by side in an awkward silence that, for El-Melloi, felt oddly reminiscent of another time and another place. He wasn’t exactly sure what to say after that and it seemed Mash didn’t have a clear idea either. And then, the somber mood was broken when the Shielder let out a small, unexpected giggle.

“Is something amusing?” She nodded in response and turned to him.

“I was thinking about bad first impressions and remembered the first time I met Senpai." Mash giggled once again and her smile took on a softer, more fond kind of color. "She had fallen asleep right in the middle of the hallway. And later, while the Director was briefing the new recruits, she fell asleep again.” Despite himself, El-Melloi found a smile had worked its way onto his face.

“That certainly sounds like Ritsuka…” He agreed. Mash nodded, still smiling.

“And for what it’s worth, you’re a great Servant and a strong Caster, no matter what this new Rider says.” His ears were bright red now, he was sure of it…

“You’ve made your point, Ms. Mash…” He coughed, willing the flush away from his face.  
“And I wouldn’t worry. I’m sure things will work out in the end.”

“Thank you, I hope so too.” As Mash bade him goodbye and walked away, the lingering smile fell away and El-Melloi’s expression returned to a somber frown. He was grateful for the listening ear of the other Servant, truly. But still… Things would work out in the end? Don’t worry about someone’s opinions? He could think of almost a million other men who claimed how the only opinion that mattered in the end was that of oneself.

But, the Caster had to concede that such advice wasn’t without merit. Take himself for instance. He’d lived fairly well if he said so himself. He'd done everything he could to uphold the Legacy of Alexander the Great himself. And in the end, wasn’t that what mattered? That _he_ was satisfied with how he’d lived? El-Melloi liked to think so.

And yet all the rationalization and well meaning words from Mash had done nothing to lessen the blow he’d been dealt back in the Summoning Room.

He still recalled his promise on the Bridge quite literally a lifetime ago; when had sworn fealty, proclaimed Iskandar his only King and vowed to follow where he led to the ends of the earth itself and even beyond that. And for what? To be disavowed the second they met once more. To not even be remembered by the man who regarded the bonds between him and his followers as nothing less than sacred. To find rejection from the man who’d inspired him to live on, to seek the glory at the end of the horizon. The man he’d devoted his entire life to. The man he-

But casting aside that vow, renouncing the other man as his king, even in the face of this dismissal was out of the question. He wouldn’t consider such an idea, not even for a second.

 _So he doesn’t remember you._ The Caster thought as he began to walk through the hallway. _It’s not like that was ever going to be a surprise…_ Even before his second life as a Servant, even when his one goal in life had been to see Rider again, he’d known that the King would not remember him. The immutable facts of the universe dictated that Servants retained no memories of previous Grail Wars and Iskandar was no different. Still, to be looked down on once more…

And by Rider of all people…

“He’s here.” El-Melloi declared with a shake of his head. “He’s here, he’s alive, and you’re actually good for something this time.” That had been his goal all along, hadn’t it? It didn’t matter if Rider remembered him or not, so long as El-Melloi could see him again. And if he was doubted, if his abilities were called into question…

“Persistence…” He murmured. “You’ll just have to prove yourself worthy again.” Yes, that’s what he’d done in his first life and that was what he’d do now. Persist, live on, struggle forward even in vain. He would certainly do it. He _had_ to do it. With resolve and confidence swelling in his chest, El-Melloi strode forward through the halls of Chaldea, sure in his path and in what had to be done.

And then the familiar voices of Ritsuka and Iskandar reached his ears from an adjacent hallway.

“I just don’t like him for some reason…”

Nobody saw Lord El-Melloi II slink back to his room, so no one could prove that it was him who had been crying. And if anyone claimed they heard muted sobs coming from his room that was just a video he’d been watching on the Terminal and no one could prove otherwise…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Initially, El-Melloi was going to rant to Fergus about what happened, then Diarmuid, but for some reason the interaction wasn't quite going the way I wanted it to. So I thought it would be a bit more natural to have him rant to himself and be caught by Mash. For some reason, that seemed to flow a bit better than the earlier interactions, so I went with that. Anyway, shoutout to Lintella for their comment on the last chapter! Thanks also go out to JackieBlack and the 6 other guests who left Kudos since last time. And thanks go to FangirlingPuggle for bookmarking! Hope you enjoyed and I'll see you in the next chapter!


	4. The Dream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The King of Conquerors awakes from a rather strange dream.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fairly short this time and we're back to Iskandar's POV. On a bit of a separate topic, I've reached _that_ point in the Grand Order event... You know the one? After you fight Berserker and all of El-Melloi's hopes and dreams come crashing down? Yeah, that part... Anyway, hope you enjoy the chapter!

_The King of Conquerors knew only of vague shapes and places. Some places he almost knew; the bridge, the cavern, the room. Others held almost no meaning to him at all; the field of boxes, the river, the road. What had he been doing in those places? Where were they? Who had he been with? Had he been attempting to battle and conquer? To gain knowledge? He couldn’t recall. All he could remember were the shapes, the places, the bridge, the cavern, the room, the forest…_

_“My will creates your body, and your sword creates my destiny…”_

_A summons…_

_“If you heed the Grail’s call and obey my will and reason…”_

_And then a vague shape took form before his eyes. A person, low to the ground. Had they been short? No, they’d been sprawled on the floor of the forest, looking up at him as the light of the circle had faded (circle?). For someone who had called him, the person should have at least had the strength to stand in his presence. Instead, they’d been knocked flat, awe, excitement and something else evident on the face of the person that the King of Conquerors could not remember._

_“I ask of you, are you my Master?”_

And Iskandar’s eyes opened to meet a smooth ceiling obscured by darkness. Trying to blink the images away, he sat up and rubbed a hand over tired eyes.

“What strange dreams…” He muttered aloud. Shapes… Places… The images had haunted his sleep in the days since he’d arrived at Chaldea. At first, he’d believed them to be memories of Ritsuka’s life prior to becoming a Master. That was a common occurrence between Servants and Masters after all. And yet none of the other Servants had dreamed of those places. In fact, it seemed that Masters and Servants of Chaldea could not view each other’s memories at all. Those dreams belonged to him and him alone.

Had he ever seen any of those places before? When and where did they come from? And who had that person been? ( _I ask of you, are you my Master?_ ) If they had been a Master, then surely they had to be the girl…

The thought had barely entered Iskandar’s mind before he dismissed it with a shake of his head. No. He could not recall that Master’s face, their voice, nor anything else about them. If they were Master Ritsuka, he’d have surely recognized her, even in a dream. Then who-

Shaking his head again, Iskandar halted his thoughts before they could overrun him. Over-thinking things never led to anything good and it was often best if such things were kept simple. He was Iskandar, King of the Conquerors, the man who had claimed half the world as his empire. It would be unfair to ask him to remember all the places and people he’d met in his victories. Besides, these visions were little more than dreams. It would not do well to dwell on such things.

As a sigh passed through his lips again, Iskandar lay back to stare at the blank ceiling once more. He’d traveled across the entire world in his lifetime, camped in deserts and mountains and plains alike. And yet sleep had never eluded him as it did now. The room was small, cramped almost with nothing but a bed and a strange device in the corner furthest from the door. He was used to camps, used to falling asleep to the smell of the fires and the sound of his companions celebrating long into the night. Here, in this too small room, there was nothing to smell, nothing to see, nothing to hear save for the howling of the blizzard outside blended with the hum of some sort of machine in the distance into a drone that was far too overwhelming to be soothing. He'd only been in Chaldea a short time, but already confinement had made him nearly mad.

Iskandar grumbled slightly in frustration as he threw the sheets from his body and stood. If rest was so insistent on avoiding him that night, he’d find something else to occupy his mind. Sticking a hand in the pocket of the fleece leggings he’d found in his quarters ( _such marvelous garments!_ ) the King of Conquerors strode out of his room and into the halls of Chaldea.

The light in the corridors was dim and the windows had been obscured to block the seemingly eternal daylight outside. How fascinating this land was! The King had hardly been able to believe such a thing possible when Master Ritsuka had told him, yet the proof was there in front of him behind a thick wall of glass. It made Iskandar’s situation all the more tragic, to be confined to this modern citadel when there was a nightless land outside to be explored and claimed in his name.

That would have to wait for a later day it seemed. Now, Iskandar was left to find something else to occupy his mind while sleep continued to evade him. He hoped that perhaps someone else would have a similar issue and that they could perhaps talk. The silence of Chaldea’s halls seemed to answer him. No, there would be no one else up at this hour. Best not to disturb them. Instead, he turned his thoughts back to his Master and the tour she’d given him when he’d first arrived. Cafeteria, Summoning Board, Library, Training grounds… The last one was rather tempting, but when after a second thought, he figured that fighting battles while ill rested was not very wise. So he contented himself to wander the halls, turning over his strange dreams and what to do with himself in a seemingly empty Chaldea when Iskandar found himself outside the Records Room.

 _Of course!_ He thought to himself and a grin stretched across his face. What better way to ease the restless mind than the pursuit and acquisition of knowledge! While the Grail or whatever had summoned him had granted him the basic tools essential for navigating this era, that could only get him so far. This could be just what he needed to get a strong start on conquering this strange new world. Very well. He’d spend whatever time left until morning here, researching and reading anything he could. Suddenly very grateful for his strange dreams, his lack of sleep for this golden opportunity, he opened the door and strode into the room.  
  
Alas, it seemed the night would offer little more than disappointment.

For starters, the Records Room was simply that; a single room. The idea that decades, possibly centuries of human civilization and history could be confined to a small room with no scrolls or books... It just seemed downright bizarre… He wasn't fond of it, but Iskandar supposed that it was just another one of those things he would have to learn how to live with.

And speaking of things he would have to live with…

The man hunched over the desk with a strange smoking stick resting in his hand was so still and so silent that Iskandar almost missed his presence entirely. The initial excitement he felt at the presence of company gave way to bitter disappointment as he recognized the face behind the curtain of dark hair.

It was puzzling, the near instinctual contempt he felt whenever he so much as heard the name “El-Melloi.” He’d been able to reason that it was because the man was a tactician, a coward who hid behind others while avoiding conflict and battle. And yet, when he tried to recall other strategists of that ilk, none came to mind other than this “El-Melloi” fellow. It almost seemed as though such feelings were exclusive to the strategist. Almost as though…

Iskandar shook his head and turned to the shelves. He was over-thinking again. There were records to read irregardless of the other Servant’s presence. He was going to find something, anything about this era he could focus on and that was the end of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There isn't really too much to say about this chapter in regards to trivia. As neat and as fascinating as Chaldea might be, that doesn't really change the fact that when you're not resolving Singularities, you're kind of cooped up in the middle of Antarctica. And on that note I feel a new burning desire to write a one-shot where Ritsuka forces her Servants to sit down and watch "The Thing" with her... Anyway, shout-outs go to Lintella and Anna for their comments on chapter 3! Thanks go out to Kerimeos, AthenaMasquerade, Lintella (again) and the 1 guest who left Kudos since last time! CeruleanFirebird, Jayfeather912 and Lintella (once more) also have my thanks for bookmarking! As always, I hope you enjoyed and I'll see you in the next chapter!


	5. The Conversation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> El-Melloi has an evening chat with a certain Servant.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To start off with a bit of good news, I actually managed to pull Iskandar in Grand Order. Seemed as though that was an indicator for how the rest of the day would go. Hope you had some good luck today and I hope you enjoy the new chapter!

Lord El-Melloi II should have known better than to think that he’d be left to read without any disruptions. Thanks to the number and nature of the Servants of Chaldea, such a task would have been impossible during normal work hours. However, the hours when Ritsuka rested and slept were another matter entirely. Most Servants took cues from their Master; if she was going to sleep, they may as well too and El-Melloi should have been left in peace. Alas, it was not meant to be.

One moment he’d merely been browsing and the next, the door to the Records Room slid open. He’d thought he was the only one up at such an hour and the sound had pulled him from a comprehensive study regarding the state of the most recently discovered Singularity. He should have known. Of course another Servant would disturb him at this hour and of _course_ that Servant would be Iskandar of all people-

_And of course that idiot is walking around shirtless!_ With a slight flush, El-Melloi supposed he ought to be grateful that the Servant seemed more receptive to pants this time around. A single glance as all he got before an annoyed huff from Iskandar sent his eyes darting back to the Terminal. _Just remember your own advice and persist._ He got as far as a second glance, just enough to see the loathing on the other man’s face before Iskandar turned towards the shelves lining the wall. El-Melloi clenched his teeth against the bubbling scream of frustration before he forced himself to take a deep, calming breath.

_He doesn’t remember you._ He reminded himself and pointedly ignored the slight ache it brought to his chest. _As far as he’s concerned, the two of you have never met…_ El-Melloi may not be an expert in how the mind of the King of Conquerors worked, but he could say with confidence that Iskandar was not the type to detest someone as soon as he met them. Quite the opposite in fact. He’d been more the type of man to swoop in with a grandiose entrance and invite their enemies to join his forces and follow him on the path to conquest. That didn’t mean there weren’t exceptions however. Professor Kayneth’s introduction and conduct during the battle at the pier would have put anyone off, and no one in their right mind would have allied with Caster or his master after finding-

He was letting himself get off topic. The point was, Iskandar had never met anyone he outright despised at first sight. There was usually a reason.

So what had he done during their short meeting that caused Iskandar to hate him?

In the same moment that the thought came to his head, it was interrupted by a large yawn and it hit El-Melloi just how tired he really was. It was far too late in the evening to worry about such things. He would finish reading, return to his room, and worry over what to do about Iskandar in the morning. If there even _was_ anything to do about Iskandar.

Chancing a third glance at the man in question, El-Melloi found that he had his nose buried in the shelves lining the walls of the Records Room. It seemed that whoever had designed and commissioned Chaldea placed some sort of importance on decoration and appearances. The shelves of the Records Room were purely ornamental, holding no real books whatsoever. It seemed that Iskandar hadn’t realized that yet. El-Melloi supposed he should ignore him. He’d grown very tired and it was fairly obvious that Iskandar was not in any sort of mood to talk, and not to him of all people, so El-Melloi figured he should just mind his own business and-

“They’re decorative…” The words were out before he could stop himself. They earned a glare from Iskandar and El-Melloi felt as though melting into the floor would be a very good idea at the moment. Instead, he swallowed, remembered his own advice about persistence and met the other man’s eyes head on before continuing. “There aren’t any real books on the shelves, they’re just decorative. You use the Terminals at the desk to look through Records, or the Library has real books if you want…” Silence filled the room for a few seconds after El-Melloi trailed off. Just as his resolve was about to waver, just as he was about to turn his eyes back to the screen and hope he didn’t raise the other man’s wrath, Iskandar looked away first.

With a low grunt and a shrug, he began to walk towards the long desk and El-Melloi tried to get back to reading before realizing it was pointless. Tiredness caused the words on the screen to run and bleed together. He couldn’t learn anything like this. Besides, he wouldn’t be able to formulate a decent strategy until he’d seen what the Singularity held first hand. So much for finishing… He peeked up once more and saw that Iskandar had taken a seat at the corner of the long desk, as far away from the Caster as he could possibly be. He didn’t return El-Melloi’s look with one of his own, too engrossed in examining the horizontal tube affixed to the tabletop.

The Terminals of Chaldea had been rather confusing at first. What was wrong with just using computers? Or even written records? They had a Library after all… The staff claimed that Terminals were faster, more compact than written documents and less likely to break down than the outdated technology of computers. And while Chaldea did have a Library, the immediate nature of the Terminals made them rather popular for gathering information. He could see the appeal, and he’d made it a point to try and figure out how to use the curious devices. It seemed Iskandar had the same idea. Still, the image of him sitting at the desk, brow furrowed in confusion as opposed to curiosity, was rather unnerving. He wasn’t looking it over, he had no idea how to use it at all. The whole scene was such a far cry from the way he’d taken to the television and video-games like a fish to water that it was downright uncanny.

Closing his eyes, El-Melloi stretched his arms above his head and gave a very long, very audible, and very drawn out yawn. As he lowered his arms, he reached around to the side of the horizontal tube in front of him and held down the button on its side. The holographic screen blinked out of existence with a small click and El-Melloi withdrew his hand slowly and purposefully. He stood a second later and without so much as a glance towards the other man, began to walk towards the door. Perhaps fatigue weighed down his legs and caused them to drag. Perhaps he was simply reluctant to go back to his room for some reason. Either way, the Caster’s stride seemed to return to a normal pace once the soft electric melody that indicated a Terminal had been activated reached his ears. He’d almost made it to the door, lips turned up slightly when-

“How do you find them?” At first, El-Melloi thought the question had been meant for someone else. Then he remembered that he and Iskandar were the only two people in the room at the moment and turned around to find Iskandar staring intently at the screen of the terminal. There was always the possibility that he was simply talking to himself, El-Melloi had seen stranger things happen in Chaldea. But he spoke again, impatiently, making it obvious that he was addressing the Caster. “This is the Records Room, is it not? How does one find anything using this thing?”

For a brief few moments, all El-Melloi could do was stare, trying to force his mind to comprehend what was happening, trying to comprehend that Iskandar, King of Conquerors, was actually speaking to him. And trying to figure out what the hell he should say in response…

“I thought Servants are summoned with everything they need to know about the Modern Age...” He muttered as he padded back to the desk. In reply, Iskandar scoffed and folded his arms, still glaring at the Terminal’s screen.

“We are provided basic knowledge, but it seems the specifics of this device’s operation were not considered important.”

“Well, it isn’t that hard to figure out.” El-Melloi reached forward and tapped a finger to the search bar on the screen. A keypad blinked into existence before the two Servants. and the Caster typed something rapidly. “All you really have to do is type what you’re looking for and hit “search” over here.” To El-Melloi, the explanation sounded patronizing as all hell and he was just waiting for the other man to reply with a scathing comment or rebuke or to insist that he needed no further assistance. But none came. Instead, Iskandar was focused entirely on the Terminal Screen, finger to his chin and nodding with a hum of understanding. Taking advantage of the lull in conversation, El-Melloi scrolled through the results on the screen and continued. “Once you’ve found something that looks promising, just tap the screen to view it.” He did just that and caught the widening of Iskandar’s eyes as a rather detailed map of the world filled the screen.

“I see…” The King murmured, reaching out a finger to prod the map and grinning when the image grew larger. At least it seemed as though he required no assistance for this part. “Still, acquiring information like this poses a few risks.”

“How so?”

“Anyone could look over my shoulder here. Not only that, but if another Servant uses this same device, they would be able to see what I was researching and move to counter me.”

“You do know that everyone in Chaldea is on the same side, right?” El-Melloi sighed, placing a hand to his head before remembering the temperament and histories of several other Heroic Spirits. “...Mostly on the same side... But if you don’t want anyone to read over your shoulder, you can just send data to the terminal in your room.” Iskandar said nothing, just moved to grant El-Melloi access to the Terminal. “You press and hold…” He demonstrated. “Then just type in your room number right here.” The other man nodded and hummed appreciatively once more.

“Can you send anything to any room?” El-Meloi nodded.

“As long as you know the number.”

“And how long does it take for this “terminal” to receive the information?”

“I’m not sure exactly. But it should be there by the time you get back to your room.” Out of nowhere, Iskandar let out an elated laugh that nearly made El-Melloi jump out of his skin.

“Aha! Truly I’ve found myself summoned to a wonderful era!” He roared and El-Melloi silently hoped that there were no dormitories near the Records Room. Oblivious to the Caster’s discomfort, and to anyone else who may be trying to get some sleep, Iskandar continued. “To be able to send and receive information with a simple tap of a finger, to store almost everything about human history in such a way that anyone can access it! Truly incredible!” He let out another booming laugh that settled somewhere in El-Melloi’s bones once more and stirred a sense of longing that made his chest outright _ache_. If he closed his eyes, if he could ignore the cold metal beneath his feet and the smooth plastic of the desk beneath his palms, if he could just pretend that he was sitting on a soft bed in a small room in an unfamiliar city, if he could just imagine that Rider…

“It’s alright,” He acquiesced and sat down in the chair next to the King, “but I still prefer books.” Iskandar nodded in agreement, still grinning as his fingers hovered over the screen. Abruptly, his smile fell and he turned to address the Caster.

“Hey, Strategist, what is my room number?” El-Melloi blinked, incredulity mingling with annoyance before he gave Iskandar what should have been an obvious answer.

“How should I know you idiot!” He grit his teeth and hissed as he remembered that there were other people who were probably trying to get some sleep. “Why weren’t you paying attention when you got a room?” He asked, much quieter this time. Next to him, Iskandar shrugged and rubbed his chin thoughtfully.

“There were numbers on the doors now that you mention it, but I saw no reason to worry about them. What point is there to numbering rooms?”

“Sending records for one…” Rolling his eyes, El-Melloi leaned forward again to tap the screen. “Once you find out, you type the number right here and hit send.”

“So the whole thing was simpler than I thought…” Iskandar murmured with a nod and returned his gaze to the screen. In the next chair over, El-Melloi shifted, almost uncomfortably as he cast around his mind for something else to say.

_Having trouble sleeping? Obviously if he’s here this late at night. How do you like Chaldea so far? Have you ever been summoned before? Do you remember-_

“Strategist…” A deep voice cut through El-Melloi’s thoughts and he gave a small startled jump before turning back to face the other man.

“Yes?” Iskandar didn’t answer right away, eyes narrowing slightly but remaining focused on the screen. Slowly, he let out a tense sigh before taking a deep breath, as though bracing himself.

“I appreciate your assistance.” It had to be the most strained form of thanks El-Melloi had ever received (and he’d worked with plenty of ungrateful mages before so that was saying something), but it was still gratitude and it was from his King and considering their current state of affairs, that was more than he could have asked for.

“Think nothing of it.”

“Hmm. Then I won’t.” Iskandar shrugged with a grunt, either unaware or uncaring of the frown El-Melloi sent his way. “Even so, it was quite fortunate that you gained mastery over such technology and that you were here at such an hour. It seems the Grail granted you extra knowledge into the workings of Era.”

“I wouldn’t say that. It’s more like I was born and lived rather close to this day and age…” He trailed off and realized that Iskandar’s attention had been torn from the Terminal and was now on him.

“You mean to say that you lived in this Era?” El-Melloi winced again as the other man’s voice rose once more.

“Given that all of human history has been incinerated outside, I don’t think anyone technically _lives_ in this age anymore…” He replied. That question was a mystery in and of itself. He could remember being alive in the year 2018 and he couldn’t recall anything about being incinerated (Ritsuka took that as a sign that Chaldea was destined to succeed in their mission). Even so, if he’d been summoned here to Chaldea as a Pseudo-Servant, then did that mean that there was another Lord El-Melloi II out in the world somewhere? Was that how it worked? And if that was the case, was that incarnation of him currently burning alive with the rest of humanity?

El-Melloi had considered these questions before, but all it got him was a headache and no solid answers. So, he cleared his head with a small shake and gave Iskandar a more concrete answer. “Technically speaking, yes.” The other man leaned forward slightly and began to examine the Caster with a look of rapt curiosity.

“I would think it is impossible for Heroic Spirits to be summoned to a time when they were alive...” He murmured, almost to himself, and El-Melloi shifted in his chair once more as the other man continued to look him over as though his physical appearance held some sort of clue to the answer. Well, at least Iskandar wasn’t flat out ignoring him…

“It’s certainly possible, but I’m not quite sure I qualify as a Heroic Spirit in the first place…”

“Then how could you be Summoned at all?” El-Melloi paused and wondered how to even start answering that question. He began explaining the state of Pseudo-Servants, of how he’d been unable to become a Heroic Spirit and how one Heroic Spirit had been unable to become a Servant, how the two had come to an arrangement, how he’d been acting as a vessel for one of the greatest tacticians who ever lived. The entire time, Iskandar kept a hand on his chin, nodding thoughtfully and listening attentively as El-Melloi went on.

“I’m not even a particularly skilled Mage, I’m just a teacher…” He finished with a sigh and a palm on his head as his temples ached. “Was a Teacher…” There were those troubling paradoxes again. Iskandar nodded again and hummed. Curiosity had not left his eyes and he was still peering at the Caster.

“Ritsuka did say something about Pseudo-Servants when I was first summoned.” He murmured. “Now, if I understand what you’re telling, Pseudo-Servants are the results of Heroic Spirits who are unable to become Servants taking on Vessels such as yourself in order to heed a Master’s summons.” The Caster nodded and winced quietly. He’d rather not dwell on the topic. So naturally, Iskandar seemed to find the whole thing fascinating and paid no mind to El-Melloi’s discomfort. “Does your Noble Phantasm reflect the abilities of the Spirit or the Vessel?” El-Melloi paused and fixed his eyes on the wall behind the screen of the Terminal. As usual, Iskandar had a talent for seeing right into the heart of the issue and bringing it up without any tact whatsoever.

“I can’t speak for other Pseudo servants, but nearly all of my abilities, and therefore Noble Phantasm, strictly represents Zhuge Liang, the Great Tactician of Shu Han…” _Nothing like that exists for Lord El-Melloi II…_ Thinking about it stung, but it wasn’t as though it was untrue. That was why he’d become a Pseudo-Servant after all… Meanwhile, Iskandar hummed in thought.

“And yet I am talking with-” He paused for only a second and El-Melloi caught the brief look of disdain paint Iskandar’s features. “-with Lord El-Melloi and not with Zhuge Liang.” The Caster nodded in affirmation and was almost surprised when Iskandar smiled at him. “Then it seems you remained in control of yourself while still obtaining the powers of this Tactician.” He grinned, wide and warm with no trace of his previous animosity. “Such a feat must speak to your credit in some manner.” El-Melloi paused, swallowed and tried to find a coherent sentence that he could force past the lump that appeared to have formed in his throat. After all this time, even when he wasn’t remembered or even liked by the other man, why the hell did Iskandar seem insistent on placing such misguided faith in him?

“I wouldn’t quite say that…” He eventually replied and turned to fix his eyes on the Terminal in front of him. “You say I acquired his powers, but it would be more accurate to say that I stole them…” Stealing power from someone more powerful than himself, getting in way over his head and getting involved in things he did not need to get involved in… He should have outgrown such things at this point. “Seems as though it’s become a bad habit of mine…” He trailed off, still staring blankly at the terminal while Iskandar remained silent beside him for several moments. Eventually, his curiosity won out over awkwardness and the King spoke up once more.

“You say the Heroic Spirit who made you his vessel is Zhuge Liang, correct?” El-Melloi nodded, hand still resting on his head, his paradox and shame-driven headache worsening. “But, exactly how is a Chinese politician compatible with a teacher who was born and lived thousands of years later?” All El-Melloi could offer as a response was a bitter chuckle and a roll of his eyes.

“Your guess is as good as mine…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To the best of my knowledge, there isn't really any sort of canon-layout to Chaldea, so I kind of went with my gut with the whole "Records Room" setup. Information found in the Records Room mostly pertains to Chaldea and data about Singularities while the Library is a bit more like a traditional Library in that it's got a bit of everything. Plus the whole Terminals (futuristic computers) vs. books thing. Also, call me crazy, but I feel like Iskandar wouldn't really have any issue with sweatpants, or at the very least, he'd find them really comfortable. Shout outs go to Lintella and TetsumiMae for their comments on the last chapter! Special Thanks to TetsumiMai and the 12 guests who left Kudos since the last chapter as well! Thanks again for reading, and I'll see you in the next Chapter!


	6. The Fieldwork

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The King finally gets to leave Chaldea for a bit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's the weekend, so I'm posting chapter 6 a bit earlier. I'm pretty bad at writing action scenes, so of course the entire second half of this chapter is pretty much an extended action scene... Hope you enjoy and thanks for reading!

_“Take me with you!”_

_The words had come to the King of Conquerors from somewhere in the void. Had he spoken? Had someone else? He couldn’t quite recall in the moment. For certain, he remembered the red bridge, he remembered looking out at a city glittering what seemed to be countless bright lights, he remembered the thrill coursing through his veins at the thought of the coming battle. Somewhere in this place, there were opponents to be fought, victories to be won, lands to be claimed…_

_“Take me with you!”_

_And then he remembered the Master._

_No matter how hard the King tried, he could not remember the Master’s face, nor their name or the clothes they wore. Of only three things he was sure. That the Master had been a boy. That he had been short. And if his cries and pleas were any indication, that he had been a coward. At least, that had been his initial impression. Perhaps he’d misjudged the Master at first. Perhaps the boy’s strengths lay elsewhere._

_Even so, he had recoiled and complained at almost every action the King had taken. He’d confirmed that he cared only for reputation and recognition and was willing to stake his life for such things. He’d proven that very first night to be small in both mind and body, weak willed, blind to anything but his own ego. And what sort of Master cowered from his own servant? It seemed that no matter what angle the King of Conquerors considered their future partnership from, they were incompatible in almost every way._

_And yet, the Grail had decided that they should be partners, so partners they would be. It seemed the King of Conquerors would be stuck with a Master completely ill-suited for the war ahead. Very well, he could comply._

_“Take me with you!”_

_The King had almost laughed aloud at the words. It seemed the boy had no sense to fear heights more than battle. Still, perhaps there could be some advantage to bringing him. Either the boy would die in the crossfire and The Servant could seek out a more suitable master, or he would realize he had no place in this war and dismiss The King of Conquerors from his Service. Surely, he would not ask to be taken into any other battles following that night._

_“Take me with you!”_

_Surely, his cowardice would win out and he would remain at a distance for the remainder of the war._

_“Take me with you!”_

_Surely, the boy’s insistence on remaining at his side would only result in him getting killed…_

_“I want to follow where you go…”_

_Surely…_

_“I want to share your dream.”_

As he woke Iskandar wondered if he had made a grave mistake at some point last night. His eyes hadn’t even opened and already he could feel the strain in his muscles, could feel something digging into his back and the ache in his neck. Groaning, he rolled his shoulders and peeled his eyes open to see the brightly lit ceiling of the Records Room. It seemed he’d fallen asleep sprawled over the chair… A grave mistake indeed…

“Strange dreams again…” He muttered as he hunched forward and tried to recall what it had been about. There had been the Red Bridge again, a river and-

A quiet snoring reached his ears, interrupting his line of thoughts as he turned to find the source of the sound. A now familiar mop of dark hair was hunched over the desk in front of the screen of those strange devices, head buried in his arms, shoulders moving deeply and evenly.

He’d almost forgotten the El-Melloi man, the Strategist, had been here last night as well. Ignoring the small twinge of disdain that seemed to be an instinctual reaction to the name, Iskandar tried to recall the events that lead to him falling asleep in such a state. From what he could tell, they’d begun a discussion about the Strategist’s nature as a “Pseudo-Servant” and how he’d acquired such a title and-

 _“Such a symbol doesn’t exist for Lord El-Melloi II…”_ It wasn’t as though such a thing was uncommon. Everyday, ordinary men, women and humans lived and died without leaving anything meaningful behind. No mark on history, no change in the world, remembered only by friends and family and those who loved them. Such was the human condition. But for a Heroic Spirit to lack a Noble Phantasm, proof of their deeds, their abilities and their lives…

Iskandar supposed he ought to find such a thing pitiful, or even pathetic. Instead, he simply felt…

“You would not be here if it was not your fate, Strategist.” The man in question grumbled, shifted slightly in his sleep and Iskandar froze as he realized his hand was outstretched almost an inch away from the man's head. He hadn't even noticed; the action had been as instinctual as his the feeling of contempt that rose whenever he heard the other man's name. _Honestly..._ He withdrew his hand with a shake of his head. When had he become so sentimental? First the odd dreams and now this? It seemed as though Chaldea was beginning to get to him.

In any case, the conversation had somehow moved to a debate about the similarities between Chess, Xiangqi, and Zatrikion, whether or not said games were appropriate preparation for battle and war, whether or not it was even possible to win a battle before fighting (What is the point of a battle you can’t fight in person?) and an introduction to a digital game the other was apparently a fan of. (Admirable something or other. Perhaps he would look it up later.) After that… Well, after that Iskandar’s memory began to blur and swirl together and he couldn’t quite recall _what_ exactly had happened. Either way, it seemed that one of them had fallen asleep and the other had followed suit.

Well, for all the ill feelings the other man gave Iskandar, the Strategist seemed to be a fair partner for conversation. And at the very least he was trustworthy enough to sleep next to. If he’d truly been an enemy… Shaking his head at the thought, the King stood and padded towards the door. He would leave the other man to his rest and find some other means to occupy his time.

Sunlight filtered through the blizzard and windows and from what Iskandar could hear through the cold halls, it seemed the denizens of Chaldea were up and about beginning their day. He figured a trip to the Cafeteria would be in order, both for camaraderie and catching up with Servants and Staff, and to sample the culinary skills of that red Archer who seemed to have conquered the Kitchen. He’d barely made it halfway there when a familiar voice stopped him in his tracks.

“Hey, Iskandar!” The King turned to find the sight of the Master of Chaldea jogging towards him.

“Were you searching for me girl?” He asked as Ritsuka caught up, breathing heavily.  
“Yeah, I tried your room, but you were out.” She replied, still trying to catch your breath. “If you aren’t too busy later, I could really use your help with some fieldwork in one of the Singularities.”

Fieldwork…

Fieldwork in a Singularity…

He hadn’t been in Chaldea very long, but from what little he could glean, fieldwork for Chaldea usually entailed…

And with that, all thoughts of his dreams and the Strategist fled from his mind and a wild grin spread across his face as the blood surged through his veins. _Finally!_

“It is about time you called upon my strength for battle!” Iskandar roared and clapped a hand against Ritsuka’s arm in appreciation. “I was worried that you would have me waste away in this fortress without even setting foot in a Singularity!”

“I’m sorry about that…” She winced and rubbed the spot she’d been struck. “You know how to find the Control Room, right?”

“Of course!”

“Then I’ll meet you there in a few minutes, I just need to find the Professor…” And with that, Iskandar’s grin slid off his face. If she was looking for that man, then she obviously intended to bring him along... A mistake that could cost them victory! Even if he was a good conversation partner, that didn’t change the fact that the man seemed rather ill-suited for battle. No, perhaps he was being too quick to judge. After all, Ritsuka claimed that El-Melloi was the strongest Caster in Chaldea. Even if Iskandar couldn’t quite picture it, Ritsuka seemed to think so. With a sigh, the King gestured down the hall in the direction he’d come from.

“Last I saw, he was in the Records Room…” With a large smile and a small bow of gratitude, Ritsuka turned and began jogging once more.

“Thank you so much, I’ll see you in a bit!” She called back over her shoulder and Iskandar sent her a wave in response. Perhaps he was overthinking things. Either Ritsuka’s faith in the Caster would prove to be well founded…

Or the other man would die on the battlefield…

A new sense of apprehension weighing on him, Iskandar resumed trudging towards the Cafeteria, hoping to find some food before riding out to battle.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It turned out that the “fieldwork” Iskandar had been looking forward to was far less interesting than he’d expected. While most of his previous life had been spent marching across endless lands between feats of conquest and battle, he was finding that such campaigns were more bearable when endured with a multitude of friends, companions and brothers in arms. For all Ritsuka’s amiability, their assembly was sorely lacking… Besides him, Ritsuka’s friend accompanied them on their outing; the girl bearing a large shield and dark armour. _Mash something-or-other,_ he recalled. And then there was the matter of the Caster.

From their first steps, the man had done little else other than nearly fall asleep on his feet and grumble about aching shoulders. He didn’t even have it that hard. The Mash-Girl was lugging around a shield equal to her height and likely twice her weight with barely a complaint! He’d even offered to have Bucephalus carry it for her and she’d refused adamantly. Meanwhile the Caster had nothing other than a coat. And yet he’d lagged towards the back of the group, nodding off every now and then before stumbling awake. Really, Iskandar couldn’t recall ever meeting someone more ill-suited to being a Servant than this El-Melloi fellow. And speaking of the Professor…

With a gradual pull on the reins, Bucephalus slowed until he was level with the other man. Sure enough, his eyes were barely open and he’d obviously begun to drift off again. “Strategist,” he grumbled and the Caster jolted awake and nearly tripped over his own feet. “it would behoove you to stay alert, lest you want our foes to catch you off guard. If simply walking tires you out, we would have if you’d stayed in Chaldea.”

“Says the man riding a horse…” The Strategist grumbled and rolled his eyes. “I’m surprised you have any energy after last night…”

“Of course I do, I’m a Servant.”

“And I’m a _Pseudo_ -Servant.”

“And we’re gonna be ambushed if you two don’t pipe down…” Ritsuka’s agitated voice cut between the two and Iskandar straightened to meet her anxious gaze.

“Are you certain? We’ve been wandering for quite some time and we’ve yet to see any enemies…” She nodded and the Shield Girl took that moment to add her input.

“Da Vinci’s and Doctor Roman’s analysis indicated that this area of the Singularity consists of both Rider and Assassin class enemies.”

“And judging by the fact that this area is incredibly open, that can only mean Wyverns…” The Professor groaned and cast a look around the open field. Meanwhile, Ritsuka’s cautious expression melted into a grin.

“That’s why I brought you along in the first place.” She replied. “You can take care of the Wyverns while Iskandar handles whatever enemies are Assassins.” Her smile grew wider, almost as though she were proud of herself. From atop Bucephalus, Iskandar nodded as he reviewed the plan. It made sense to him, he’d cover the ground while the Caster took care of the air. And yet, the Strategist and Mash were giving Ritsuka twin looks of horror, silent with shock for several moments before the Strategist spoke up.

“Come again?” Still smiling, Ritsuka turned to answer him.

“I said you can handle the Wyverns while Iskandar deals with the Assassins.”

“A sensible plan.” Iskandar nodded once more. “Spellwork is more suited to fighting enemies from the skies. Meanwhile, the Shield Girl and I are better suited to fighting on the ground. It sounds as though you’ve planned well girl.”

“Exactly. Thank you, Iskandar.” Ritsuka nodded in appreciation before turning back to the Shield Girl and the Strategist. The look on their faces had changed slightly. Mash appeared to have grown rather nervous and was scanning the skies above them. Meanwhile, the Professor’s head sunk into his hands and his brow furrowed.

“Ritsuka…” He mumbled, voice muffled, but dripping with frustration. “Tell me again, class Casters are effective against…” The girl blinked and the smile faded from her face. It seemed as though her plan wasn’t as well thought through as Iskandar had believed…

“Well,” She replied. “Casters are effective against Riders and Riders are strong against Assassins. Right?” Eyebrow raised, Iskandar regarded the Strategist with curiosity. What did the class of enemies have to do with anything? It seemed to be important to everyone else however. Mash cast a distraught glance at Ritsuka while the Strategist’s head shot up from his hands, annoyance shifting into full blown rage.

“That’s-” Whatever he’d planned to say remained a mystery as a guttural screech cut through the air. They were smaller than Iskandar had expected, but judging from the speed at which they flew and the sharp glint of sunlight off their talons, these Wyverns were not foes to be underestimated.

“Save your complaints for later!” He cried out as the creatures swooped in, claws bared and shrieking with bloodlust. Mash fell back slightly, focused on guarding Ritsuka and occasionally swinging her shield at the low flying Wyverns. The Strategist on the other hand appeared to be struggling. Iskandar had thought that magical attacks would be better suited for flying enemies, but it seemed that no matter what he did the Caster’s spells had almost no effect on the Wyverns. Not the gusts of wind, not the beams of light, nothing he did seemed to penetrate their defenses. And Iskandar…

Well it was the most fun Iskandar had since his summoning…

The creatures moved unnaturally fast, and while he seemed to be faring slightly better than the Caster, it was only slightly. Truly, these foes were stronger than he’d imagined, not to be underestimated despite having the intelligence of beasts. Laughing wildly, Iskandar very nearly lost himself in the euphoria of every slash and stab of the sword, every strike of lightning he called forth, every small wound inflicted on the animals.

This was more like it.

His comrades, on the other hand, seemed to have a different opinion on the situation entirely.

“Why the hell would you think Casters are suited for fighting Riders?” The Strategist yelled over his shoulder, firing off another beam of light that merely bounced off an incoming Wyvern’s scales. Ritsuka’s head popped out from behind the shield as she yelled back in reply.  
“I forgot! I’m sorry!”

“Come now Strategist!” Iskandar laughed as he hacked at another creature, only for it to swoop away. “The only thing of importance is that these creatures are enemies to be struck down! The class they embody does not matter in the heat of battle!”

“Yes it does! It literally does!” The Strategist had barely finished his exclamation when one of the Wyverns screeched and dived straight for Iskandar. The beast’s talons caught his side, drawing blood but it was so close. With a roar, Iskandar plunged his blade down and into the creature’s wing. It hit the ground, hissing and thrashing, only for Bucephalus to rear up and bring his full weight down. Large hooves crushed the thing’s skull in an instant as lightning reduced the remaining corpse to little more than ash. The King of Conquerors turned to the others, blade raised above his head, blood running down his side, and he bellowed.

“There is nothing impossible to him who will try! If you call yourself a Servant, then face this trial head on and prevail!” His words rang in the air for a moment before he turned, pointing his blade towards the remaining two Wyverns plunging towards the group. Iskandar readied his blade when from behind him, a familiar beam of light shot forward. The Professor’s spell hit one of them right in the eye, drawing almost no damage, but blinding only for a moment. It let out a shrill cry and careened into the other Wyvern, knocking them both to the ground. Ritsuka’s voice rang out, clear and powerful and Iskandar grinned as he heard the renewed fighting spirit in her words.

“What he said! Get ‘em!” It seemed his words and their Master’s orders were enough to carry them forward into battle. Attacks seemed to hit deeper, seemed to draw more damage than before. Mash leapt into the fray, swinging her shield into necks and wings while the Professor aimed spells at their eyes, their bellies, any weak point he could exploit. For Iskandar, the rest of the battle was lost in a haze of dust and lightning and bestial shrieking. When it cleared, the Wyverns were gone and the ragtag group of the Master, the Shielder, the Caster and the King emerged victorious. Battered, somewhat worse for wear, and some more irritated than others, but victorious nonetheless.

“How many times have I told you?” The Strategist gasped out the words as he sank to the ground. Of the four of them, he seemed to be in the worst shape. He wore no armor, no protection, and it almost seemed as though he’d been cut to ribbons. Even so, Iskandar had to admit (albeit somewhat begrudgingly) that it was rather impressive the man had stayed standing at all during the battle and that he still had the energy to berate Ritsuka’s apparently poor planning after it. “It’s like Rock, Paper, Fucking Scissors! Casters beat Assassins, Assassins beat Riders, and Riders beat Casters!” Ritsuka hadn’t fared much better. She’d avoided the talons and claws of the Wyverns, but supplying three Servants with Mana over the course of a battle would wear anyone out, Master or not. She’d also collapsed on the ground, leaning against Mash’s shield while catching her breath and glaring at the Caster.

“In my defense,” she replied. “You have to add Sabers and Archers and Lancers into that and you can’t expect me to remember it all!”

“It’s not that hard, Senpai…”

“Yeah, but that’s not even touching Rulers and Avengers and Berserkers!” Mash gave a tired sigh from where she’d crouched next to Ritsuka and began some sort of explanation about the placement of Berserkers in the apparent power cycle. Iskandar meanwhile rolled his eyes.

“I still fail to see the problem girl.” He huffed before grinning widely. “It matters not if our foes are Riders, Assassins or anything else. So long as they’re our enemies, we will hold nothing back and emerge victorious as we’ve done today.” Ritsuka nodded in agreement and returned his smile with one of her own. Meanwhile, Mash gave another tired sigh, this one tinged with frustration, while the Strategist dragged a palm over his face and groaned.

“Those things _are_ important, idiot…” With a glower, Iskandar turned towards the Professor, retort on his tongue, only for Mash to interrupt.

“Still, it’s kind of weird that they were all Wyverns…” She’d said it as though it wasn’t something important, just an observation. And yet seemed as though everyone in the group realized the same thing at the same time.

DaVinci and Romani had said there would be Riders _and_ Assassins. If the only enemies they’d fought up until this point had been Riders-

“Where were the Assassins?” No sooner had the Professor said those words when Iskandar noticed something strange. The faint sound of heavy feat pounding the ground accompanied by a low growl. Eyes widening, he whipped around in the direction the steps were coming from, sword raised finding-

Mash was there. Either she’d heard the sounds before him or she’d seen the creature barreling towards them. Either way, she raised her shield with a sharp cry of “Watch out!” The thing hit the shield with a harsh clang, pushing the girl back slightly before leaping away to crouch on all fours a distance away from the group. Now that it wasn’t moving around so much, Iskandar could finally see what it was, and soon realized that he had no _idea_ what it was. The creature was a deep black with masses of flesh writhing on its back in a bizarre mane that framed a face made of little more than teeth. It clawed at the ground, black shadows leaking from the thing’s body itself in a mist that obscured the talons and teeth and Iskandar was thankful that he’d encountered such a beast in the bright light of midday.

“What is that?” He asked as the thing continued to growl and stalk around them like a lion sizing up its chosen prey… Beside him, Mash raised her shield once again, fixing the enemy with a cautious glare.

“A Soul Eater…” She murmured and Iskandar frowned.

 _A Soul Eater._ He wasn’t familiar with such a creature. But if it truly was an eater of souls, they would need to approach this battle with caution. As Servants, embodiments of Souls themselves, they could be in for a difficult fight. He readied his blade, waiting for the call to charge when-

“Oh, good…” Ritsuka’s relieved sigh reached his ears, causing him to hald in surprise. Relief? “It’s a Soul Eater. Professor, can you handle this one?” Iskandar had expected the man to protest once more, to whine or complain about being made to fight when he was in such a state. Instead, the man simply brushed off his coat, replied with a brusque “If you insist…” and began to stride forward. Ritsuka nodded and turned to the other two Servants. “Iskandar, Mash, you two should fall back.” The Shield Girl nodded and backed away from the Soul Eater beast while Iskandar cast a doubtful glance back towards Ritsuka.

“And let the Strategist fight alone?” He asked, voice turning grim. From the second he’d met the other man in the Summoning Room, Iskandar had thought the man had a long way to go as a Servant. He was ill-suited for battle, was using power he’d borrowed (or rather stole) from another and even though he’d enjoyed talking with the Caster earlier, the fact remained that he did not like Lord El-Melloi in the slightest. But he was still a comrade, an ally, and sacrificing him so unreasonably did not sit well with Iskandar at all… And yet the Shield Girl was smiling up at him for some reason.

“Don’t worry, he’ll be alright.” Iskandar was _not_ worried, he was _not_ concerned and he was _not_ thinking about how abysmally the Caster had performed when facing the Wyverns.

The Soul Eater growled, its focus tuned to the approaching Caster as it’s muscles coiled, ready to pounce. And Ritsuka took a single step forward, right hand extended towards the two, symbols upon it glowing red.

“By Command Spell, I order you Zhuge Liang, release your Noble Phantasm.” As the creature pounced, Ritsuka’s hand flashed red and the skies, formerly a clear untroubled blue, darkened with clouds as the Strategist’s fingers curled around a feathered fan that had not been there a moment ago.

 _“No such symbol exists for Lord El-Melloi II…”_  
“A Reality Marble?” Iskandar questioned as the Caster’s lips moved in an incantation. Beside him, Mash shook her head and replied.

“Thaumaturgy.” Miracle work. So the Professor was capable of such feats as a Servant. Iskandar watched as the Strategist’s Noble Phantasm took effect. Stone Pillars fell from the heavens, charged and glowing as they surrounded the creature even as it tried to dodge them. He’d half expected some of them to crush it, grinding its bones against the ground, but it seemed as though their purpose was to restrain rather than kill. The glow of the pillars strengthened, the Soul Eater roared, then fell silent, still and stunned. The Caster sent forth spell after spell upon the creature, each one drawing a guttural roar and shriek from the defenseless beast. The whole scene was such a far cry from the battle against the Wyverns that Iskandar felt his jaw drop. A small laugh from the Shield Girl drew his attention downwards. It seemed as though she found some form of amusement from his bewilderment. “Soul Eaters are Classed as Assassins…” She told him and a smile of understanding spread across his face.

“And Assassins are weak against Casters.” It seemed that ridiculous theory held some weight after all. The Strategist sent a gust of wind towards the trapped Soul Eater, peering through the dust that followed in its wake. For a moment, all was still as the group watched the dust settle with bated breath.

Then with a piercing bellow, the beast shot out from the dust, breaking through the pillars and barreling towards the Strategist with foaming jaws, claws tearing through the dirt as its legs gathered and it leaped.

“Gandr!” The curse left Ritsuka’s fingers before Iskandar could even urge Bucephalus to move and struck the creature in the side, knocking it to the ground. With a snap of the Caster’s fingers, a column of flame roared to life beneath the Soul Eater and it was reduced to nothing but dark ash and a pool of thick dark liquid. The clouds fled from the sky, the stone pillars disappeared and the group breathed a heavy sigh of relief. “Nicely done Professor!” Ritsuka exclaimed as she moved towards the tar-like puddle. “I say we call it a day here for now, make sure you rest up and-”

“Not so fast!” With a movement so fast Iskandar could barely see it, the Strategist’s hand darted out to close around Ritsuka’s head with enough force to lift the girl clean off her feet. With a look of barely concealed fury, he tightened his grip. “What have I told you about Class Affinities Ritsuka?”

His grip tightened even further and cries of “Sorry!” and “I’ll memorize it I promise!” soon devolved into pleas of “Mash! Iskandar! Get me out of here!” The two Servants in question simply looked at the scene, Mash with a resigned sort of acceptance and Iskandar with confusion.

“Isn’t that a little harsh?” He asked her and was almost shocked when she gave an unworried shrug.

“Considering this isn’t the first time Senpai has gotten Class Affinities mixed up, I’d say Lord El-Melloi is actually being pretty lenient.”

“I see…”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

As soon as they returned to Chaldea, Ritsuka dismissed them from the Control Room with a quick bow, a bright “Thank you for your hard work,” and a slight grumble about a headache. The King had been considering what Servants normally did after returning from battle when he caught sight of the Strategist striding out of the control room. Almost unbidden, Iskandar recalled how he’d handled the battle, the refusal to retreat even in the face of an insurmountable enemy. And all of a sudden, Iskandar felt as though he’d made a mistake somewhere in his initial assessment of the man. He hastened after the Strategist, somewhat thankful for long legs and the other man’s leisurely pace that allowed him to catch up in no time.

“Strategist.” He called out. The man halted, turned, and Iskandar found himself somewhat lost for words. Even during his first life, he had not been a man good at swallowing his pride. Still, he could manage to do so if the situation called for it. And it seemed that this was such a situation. “I may have misjudged you rather harshly upon our first meeting.” He took a deep breath, bowed his head slightly and prepared to force the next words out of his mouth. “And I believe I owe you an apology.” For a moment, nothing was said between them. In his peripheral vision, Iskandar could vaguely see the Strategist’s rather curious reaction; he froze, eyes widened, and then his face slowly turned red before he began to stutter a response.

“Th-there’s no need for that. I- As long as you don’t mind being allies, there’s no harm done. So, you don’t need to apologize.” Relieved, Iskandar straightened his back and gave the other man a joyous grin before turning to leave.

“Very well, then I shall not!” He was capable of swallowing his pride, but if he did not have to, then he wouldn’t. As the Strategist had said, there was no harm done, and Iskandar had made amends as he’d set out to do and he could put such feelings out of his head. Even so, his smile widened further as he strode down the halls, looking forward to the next time he and the Strategist could fight as comrades once more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Figuring out how to incorporate in-game mechanics into a written medium is actually kind of fun. Charisma basically translated to a miniature rousing speech, pretty much every one of El-Melloi's skills involves him telling people when to strike and how hard to strike, and it doesn't appear in this fic, but Torture Technique would basically involve looking directly into the eyes of your enemy and outlining the various way's you're going to make them squirm. It's kind of a funny image. Anyway, shout outs go to Coll for their comment on the last chapter! Special thanks also go out to ArcherOfShinjuku and the 4 guests who left Kudos as well!


	7. The Dead

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Strategist has a rather good day both on and off the battlefield.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you liked the glimpse of Badass El-Melloi from the last chapter, you're going to love the first half of this chapter! This time, it's got Badass/Smart El-Melloi! It also has video games and some of that light angst I promised. I may have forgotten to mention this bit of trivial last time, but Ritsuka's inability to remember Class Affinities is partially based on my own inability to remember class affinities. She gets better though... Anyway, thanks for reading and I hope you enjoy the chapter!

The Clock Tower was absolutely decimated around them. El-Melloi had found the scene difficult to process the first time he’d seen it, but Ritsuka’s apparent insistence on coming back at regular intervals did not make it any easier. He saw the need to return, the pages they gathered contained a wealth of information that could be put towards Chaldea’s continued mission. Hell, half the time anyone asked about his tenure with the Mage’s Association, they were met with complaints, a scathing commentary about the self importance of Mages and how the Clock Tower only exacerbated the worst of these traits in younger generations. And yet, the sight of the once great institute, the offices, the empty classrooms once full of bright potential, all of it gone and lying in ruins…

“Why the long face, Strategist?” The question and sudden presence of a large horse at his side pulled Lord El-Melloi from his musings. He would have to get a handle on these thoughts before they became a distraction.

“There’s just something sacreligious about destroying a book…” He muttered and sent several beams of light shooting towards the floating grimoires. The books remained intact, lightly singed, but apparently still functional. Iskandar gave a hearty laugh and leaned down to clap the Caster’s shoulder.

“Considering they’re attacking us Strategist, I’m sure you’ll be able to move past this trial.” The King urged Bucephalus forward into a charge. Lightning crackled, paper fluttered through the air and El-Melloi tried to remember if Iskandar had ever used a spear before. Oh well, that didn’t really matter in the moment. More important was the issue of the floating books shooting balls of ice at them. They’d faced similar enemies before, yet these attacks were more potent, more frequent, and before long the underground tunnel was encased in frigid ice. Several of the books glowed again, preparing another volley of spells. The passage was too slick. There was no chance to dodge so that meant-

“Mash!” The Demi-Servant slammed her shield down in the same second Ritsuka called out and the glowing barrier of Lord Chaldeas sprang up just in time to block. With yet another snap of his fingers, El-Melloi set a pillar of flame below one of the books before converging with Ritsuka behind Mash’s barrier. “Any ideas?” She asked and Iskandar joined them a second later, brushing a coating of frost off his mantle while Bucephalus snorted and tossed his head to dislodge the ice from his mane.

“They’re books right?” He pointed out. “Why not have the Strategist burn them?”

“I’ve been trying…” El-Melloi grunted as he peered around Mash and Lord Chaldeas to assess the situation. The books were continuing their onslaught and Mash grit her teeth in concentration. She wouldn’t hold out much longer. He’d have to think quickly. _Spell Books. Sentient Constructs. Inanimate Objects imbued with magical power…_ The Caster turned the information over and over in his mind, blocking out Ritsuka, Iskandar and their debate regarding the flammability of magical books. _Caster Class, Sky Attribute. Who would fare best against them?_ Ritsuka was out, so that left Iskandar, Mash, and himself. _Caster Class with Man Attribute. Feasible._ Still, it was hard to see himself conducting a successful frontal assault. They were apparently resistant to his strongest attack, so perhaps Mash would fare better… _Shielder Class with Earth Attribute. Unwise._ She may not have been weak to Casters, but she’d likely do less damage than him. That just left… _Rider Class, King, Conqueror, Man Attribute. Would work best, but ice magic is overwhelming. Is there a way to nullify?_

“Professor? Any ideas how to handle the books that can pull ice out of thin air?” El-Melloi kept his eyes closed, extending a finger in Ritsuka’s direction. He couldn’t afford to get distracted at this moment. Even so, her misinterpretation of how the book’s magic worked caused his brow to furrow just a little bit. Really. To think that they could pull ice out of thin air.

_Matter cannot be created or destroyed, only transformed…_ It was an easy scientific principle, one that even normal humans were capable of understanding. So where _were_ their foes pulling ice from? _Tunnels. Canals. Water into Ice._ And then it clicked. _**Desert.**_

“They’re Water Elementals.” He declared eyes shooting open to meet Ritsuka’s confused gaze.

“But they’re using ice magic so-”

“What happens to water when it gets cold?” He cut Ritsuka off, watching as understanding dawned on her face. It seemed as though she was picking it up. “Their magic draws on moisture in the air to convert to ice, and seeing as how we’re practically in the sewers, they have a considerable amount to draw from, hence their overwhelming offense.”

“Makes sense to me.” Ritsuka answered. “So what do we do about it?” Ignoring her, El-Melloi turned to look at Iskandar. He’d dismounted Bucephalus and was watching Mash holding out against the books with a slight look of concern. Ritsuka had already used a Command Spell to have Mash unleash Lord Chaldeas, so El-Melloi would need to provide support this time.

“Iskandar.” The Caster reached out a hand. The King turned to face him and his eyes widened in slight surprise as a hand was placed on his shoulder. With a small amount of concentration, a trickle of Mana began to course between the two Servants. Zhuge Liang’s abilities may have been useless for healing spells, but when it came to supplying power and empowering Noble Phantasms, well being a Caster who specialized in supporting others had its advantages. El-Melloi closed his eyes, mostly so that he wouldn't have to look at the other man and simply concentrated on keeping the flow of Mana even and steady.

“If you use your Noble Phantasm, you can pull them into your Reality Marble. Then-”  
“Of course, that place is so arid, those books won’t be able to draw any water for their spells!” Iskandar beamed and gripped El-Melloi’s shoulders in excitement. His exuberance proved to be infectious and despite himself, the Caster found himself grinning back as his grasp on the other’s arm tightening slightly.

“Exactly.” The two turned to Ritskua. She gave them a nod before going to stand next to the Shielder.

“Mash, did you get all that?” She asked.

“Yes Senpai!”

“Can you keep it up for just a little longer?”

“As long as you need me to!” Her words were valiant, but gritted out through clenched teeth. It appeared that “as long as you need” wouldn’t be much longer. Face turning grim, Ritsuka twisted around to address Iskandar.

“Get that Reality Marble going. Please.”

“Understood.” Iskandar replied and El-Melloi withdrew his hand as the King mounted Bucephalus once more. No sooner had he settled into the saddle than the air around them shifted, almost tangibly, as a warm, arid wind began to stir. El-Melloi shielded his face as sand that seemed to come from nowhere buffeted the group before settling and the Caster opened his eyes to find the sun beating down on them as the sands of the vast desert drifted in the breeze. Bucephalus let out a whinny that sounded more like a battle cry as he pounded away from them, bearing his rider to battle.

“Umm, Professor?” The soft voice caught El-Melloi’s attention and he looked to where Mash was leaning on her shield.

“Hmm? What is it?” She paused, breathing heavily, and he waited for her to catch her breath.

“I don’t mean to be rude, it’s just…” She trailed off, looking at him curiously. “Mr. Iskandar never mentioned that his Noble Phantasm was a Reality Marble.” Oh. He hadn’t, had he… “How did you-” Her question was interrupted as a loud ululation echoed among what had to be thousands upon thousands of voices. Even though it had been years since he’d seen it, the sight of the Ionian Hetairoi advancing was one that would always cause El-Melloi’s heart to stir with excitement. Rows upon rows of spears, swords, and soldiers mounted the crest of the hill, coming to heed the summons of their King to fight by his side in any era, against any foe. With one final cry, the red clad figure at the head charged forth and his army followed. It was watching this sight with Mash and Ritsuka, Mash looking almost terrified, Ritsuka grinning madly in awe, that El-Melloi remembered two very specific moments; The devotion shown by such companions, and an oath he’d made at the tender age of nineteen.

_If he doesn’t remember that pledge…_ He reasoned. _I suppose he doesn’t consider me one of them…_ The thought was dismissed as soon as it rose to mind. It was a selfish, immature idea and nothing would come from dwelling on it. El-Melloi shook his head and turned his attention back to watching the army of companions tear through the books as scraps of paper littered the desert. He almost felt sorry. The poor things never stood a chance…

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The return to Chaldea was almost uneventful. El-Melloi preferred not to linger too long and as soon as Ritsuka had finished her standard “thank you for helping out” speech, he’d replied with his standard “it’s not like Servants really have any other choice but it’s not a problem anyway” and had strode off while Iskandar stayed to chat with Ritsuka. Check with Romani and DaVinci regarding any data on the next Singularity, a quick visit to the Records Room or the Library then perhaps-

“Excuse me…” The quiet voice interrupted El-Melloi’s stride and he turned his head to meet the shy gaze of Mash. For a moment, he worried that she was about to continue the line of questioning from before when- “Where are you going Professor?” He was tempted to brush her off, claim it was none of her business thank you very much and continue walking away. But he wouldn’t get anything out of being rude to someone who was just asking a simple question.

“I thought I would double check our records on the next Singularity.”

“Oh.” Her face noticeably fell at his answer. El-Melloi sighed and turned around to fully face the girl.

“Is there something wrong with that Ms. Mash?” She hesitated before answering, almost as though she was carefully considering what to say.

“Well, DaVinci and the rest of the Staff have collected as much data as they can about the upcoming Singularity, you’ve gone over that data front to back almost a million times and you always insist on coming along whenever we go into the field-”

“Because a certain someone insists on bringing me…”

“Senpai and I just think you could use a break. Chaldea’s not going anywhere and neither are you. Might as well relax while you have the chance.” She finished. Her shyness was replaced with a look of such genuine concern and not for the first time, Lord El-Melloi was reminded of a similar expression framed by silver hair and a dark hood…

_Designer Babies. Forced Vessels for Heroic Spirits._ “I suppose… I suppose it wouldn’t be the worst thing if I take some time off…” Mash’s face broke into a wide, almost relieved smile before she replied.

“Good, I’m sure Senpai will be happy to hear that.”

“Thank you La-” He caught himself just in time and cleared his throat before he could finish the word. “Thank you Mash. You should take this time to relax as well…” She nodded once again and left to find Ritsuka with such enthusiasm that El-Melloi was left wondering how he’d ever mistaken her for- No, he was doing it again. Dwelling would get him nowhere, so instead, he set off through the halls of Chaldea. He’d almost made it back to his room when he rounded a corner and almost ran smack into-

“Strategist!” Oh hell…

Iskandar’s smile split his face and he slung a heavy arm over El-Melloi’s shoulder with enough force to break a normal man’s spine. “I’ve heard Fergus has procured an excellent collection of spirits he wishes to share! You should join us for a drink!” Grumbling, El-Melloi shrugged, trying to dislodge the other man’s arm.

“I’ll pass…” His attempts were in vain as Iskandar’s laugh boomed in his ear, arm tightened around his shoulders, and El-Melloi felt his stomach give the smallest hint of a flip.

“Come now! If anything you should welcome this opportunity to gain new allies in the coming battles.”

“Firstly, we’re everyone here is already on the same side.” He shot back before remembering a certain French Saber. _Mostly…_ “Secondly, I’ve been here longer than you, therefore I don’t need to “gain” any new allies. Lastly,” The Professor cringed slightly as he remembered his first meeting with Fergus Mac Roich. “You never take an invitation to drink with Fergus unless you want to wake up naked the next morning.” Iskandar simply laughed once more before eventually removing his arm.

“He sounds like an excellent drinking partner! And how were you planning on spending your time instead?” The question caused El-Melloi to pause. He hadn’t really thought of that. He could visit the library, find a good book to curl up with in the privacy of his room. There were probably other options, but he found it somewhat hard to think with the other man’s large frame taking up most of his vision…

“Admirable War Tactics.” He murmured and Iskandar tilted his head. _Right. I keep forgetting…_ “It’s a game I’m rather fond of. I haven’t gotten a chance to play since coming to Chaldea, so this might be a good time to get back into it…” The other Servant nodded, rubbing his chin as he considered what El-Melloi had just said.

“Hmm. I recall you mentioned such a game earlier…” Had he? El-Melloi could only remember bits and pieces of their early morning conversation in the Records Room. He could vaguely remember a debate about Chess and Xiangqi and Strategy Games versus an actual battlefield, but after that, it was mostly a blur of tiredness and words that jumbled together. “Strategist?” Well shit, Iskandar must have said something he’d missed.

“I’m sorry, what was that?” The other man clapped him on the back, replied, and Lord El-Melloi’s stomach did another almost imperceptible flip.

“I said that I shall play this “Admirable War Tactics” with you tonight!” He blinked. Then blinked again, still not quite comprehending what he was hearing.

“You- You want- Are you sure? You seemed fairly set on drinking with Fergus.” Iskandar gave a nonchalant shrug before smirking at the Professor.

“Fergus has made it clear that his collection will not run dry any time soon, but no one truly knows when the “Great Strategist” will ever take time off again!” El-Melloi would have rolled his eyes at the remark, but he was still trying to figure out exactly why the other Servant would feel any sort of desire to give up a night of drinking to play video games with a man he’d been pretty clear about detesting from day one. But could he really say Iskandar detested him any more? Had the two of them not grown closer in some way after battling through several instances of Ritsuka’s poor judgement and planning? Had the other man not made a truncated sort of apology? Had he not admitted to misjudging El-Melloi in some way?

After several assurances that his offer was genuine, the exchange of El-Melloi’s room number and a quick trip to the library to actually make sure the game could be downloaded, the Professor found himself sitting cross legged on his bed, clad in sweatpants and a T-shirt with a controller on his lap, a cigar between his teeth and a King sitting on the floor in front of him.

“Truly incredible…” The larger man murmured as he stared at the screen. If El-Melloi hadn’t already seen Iskandar, clad in full armor, staring at a screen in awe, he thought he would have laughed at the sight. At the current moment, the image only served to stir up a sense of nostalgia and the Pseudo-Servant found himself with a warm smile on his face instead. Lucky for him, Iskandar seemed too absorbed in the game to notice. “If such devices existed in my time, you could train an entire squadron like this in a matter of days.” He paused, then shook his head as though something just occurred to him. “But still…”

“There is no true replacement for the tide of battle?”

“Precisely.” The two played in silence for sometime. Iskandar proved himself to be a fast learner, but El-Melloi had nearly an entire lifetime of experience under his belt. Before long, the armies of the “Velvet Empire” had all but obliterated the forces of “Macedonia.” Iskandar grunted and turned around slightly as the Terminal loaded the next round. “This is a game of strategy, correct?” He asked and El-Melloi nodded in response.

“That’s right.” Iskandar faced the screen once more as the second round began.

“Then I should surely be given a handicap if I’m playing against the “legendary” Zhuge Liang.” He grunted and El-Melloi scoffed around his cigar.

“The only “legendary” thing about him is his ability to foist work off on other people.”  
  
“Then I’m fighting a battle against Lord El-Melloi-”

“The Second.”

“And not Zhuge Liang.”

“Exactly. I thought we’d established that earlier.” The two lapsed into silence punctuated by the sounds of combat from the Terminal Screen as the digital armies battled ferociously.

“So I don’t get a handicap…”

“None whatsoever.” He’d considered it in the beginning, but he didn’t think the other man would ever forgive him for holding back. Iskandar chuckled to himself as the tide of battle turned against him.

“It matters not.” He replied. “You’ve proven to be quite the formidable foe, but I shall continue to challenge you until victory is achieved!” El-Melloi could only chortle as the King of Conquerors issued another declaration of war against the Velvet Empire.

“You’re stubborn as ever…” He accepted the challenge and the two lapsed back into a comfortable silence once more. El-Melloi figured that he should be happy with the current situation, or at least satisfied. And yet, there was still a small niggling sense of doubt; the feeling that this scene in his room, that Iskandar was here at all, was far too good to ever be true. Only several days ago, Iskandar had barely been able to look him in the eye without making his hatred evident and now… “Ri- Iskandar?”

“Mmm?”

“The other day…” He trailed off, searching for the best way to ask. “What did you mean when you said you misjudged me?” _What did I do to displease you? What changed your mind?_ Iskandar went silent and El-Melloi had the sinking feeling that he would not get his answer at all.

“Truth be told, when I first met you outside that summoning room, you struck me as a coward who lets others fight battles for him.”

“Ah…” El-Melloi felt himself deflate slightly.

“However, as I admitted before, my judgement may have been too hasty…” Iskandar’s face may have been turned towards the screen, but El-Melloi did not need to see it to hear the smile evident in the other man’s voice. “You’ve put yourself on the front lines plenty of times, and from what I’ve seen, you take exceptional care to ensure the survival of your comrades in battle-” The tinny sound of a victory fanfare blared from the terminal, interrupting Iskandar. Another victory for El-Melloi. “And you’ve certainly lived up to your reputation as the “Great Tactician.” I would say you’ve proven yourself to be quite a formidable ally as well as a formidable foe, Strategist!” He gave another booming laugh and, once more, issued a challenge in the game. El-Melloi hesitated, fingers hovering slightly over the buttons. He could believe the other man’s words, but there was still something that irked him ever so slightly.

“You only refer to me as “Strategist” and nothing else.” The tension that entered Iskandar’s shoulders at the moment was so slight that El-Melloi almost missed it.

“Well, to tell you the truth, it’s actually harder to dislike you if I call you that…” His voice was strained, as though he didn’t quite understand his own reasoning. El-Melloi couldn’t quite understand it either. It didn’t make a lick of sense, but he supposed it was a slight improvement from “boy.” He could live with that. He could _try_ to live with that… Sighing, El-Melloi accepted the declaration once more and the fourth battle commenced. The silence seemed to stretch between them for what felt like hours as they traded blow after virtual blow. It seemed he’d managed to get the hang of the game…

“Strategist.” Iskandar spoke up and El-Melloi gave a slight hum to show he’d heard the other man. “You said you were born in this era?”

“Give or take a decade or two.” Another moment of silence.

“Then, does that mean there’s another version of you that exists outside Chaldea?” El-Melloi paused, a bit thrown by the question.

“I suppose that makes sense, though I can’t remember much about the year 2018. He-I’d be about forty then…” He trailed off and Iskandar nodded, glancing back to give the Professor a sly grin.

“Do you have any desire to leave Chaldea and find out?” El-Melloi gave a sardonic grin in response.

“I’d rather not be the cause of a time-ending paradox. Besides, there isn’t exactly a world outside Chaldea to leave to.” Both grins fell from Iskandar and El-Melloi’s faces as they turned back towards the screen and the mood in the room chilled.

“The Incineration of Humanity…” Iskandar murmured. “You must be worried.” The Caster blinked, giving Iskandar a curious look before returning his attention to the screen. Dammit the other man was trying to distract him…

“What gave you that idea?”

“You insist on doing everything you can to further Chaldea’s success in defeating the King of Mages and correcting the course of Human History.” El-Melloi scoffed in the way of a response.

“Me and every other Servant here.”

“Yet I know of no other Servant who was born so close to this era.” He had a point. He had a very _direct_ point… And if the previous point had been direct, the next was a lance straight to the Professor’s heart. “Surely you must have friends or family that were caught up in all this…”

He could deny it. He could claim that there was no one, friend or family that he was concerned about. It wasn’t technically a lie either. Glen and Martha Mackenzie had passed on approximately eight years before this mess had begun and his birth parents had died long before that.

And then his mind drifted back to his little chat with Mash earlier that day, back to the brief moment where she’d faintly resembled another young girl with silver hair and a dark hood… And from that memory came others of the two blonde boys, one serious and reserved, the other his complete opposite, idiotic and energetic and he found himself thinking further about the others as well. The blonde, haughty girl and her brilliant, dark-haired rival, his self-proclaimed best friend, his not-quite younger sister…

“I suppose…” He eventually responded, vaguely noticing that Iskandar had paused the game and shifted to look directly at him. “My students are well equipped to handle almost any threat that comes their way, but this…” And El-Melloi trailed off once more as his mind filled with images of his students, his colleagues, and the image of the gutted, ruined remains of the Clock Tower. Did it look like that now? Were the halls and rooms still standing or were they charred to a cinder, burnt to a husk and filled with the remains of-

A sudden, sharp jolt broke him out of his stupor and he winced as his hands instinctively covered his aching brow. Glaring, he looked up at Iskandar, now standing, with a finger outstretched nearly an inch from El-Melloi’s face and a wry smile on his own.  
  
“Then you should not worry. We are going to save them after all.” El-Melloi tried to answer, tried to say something in response, ask how the hell an idiot like him could be so certain. As it were, he was still reeling from the flick to his forehead. Iskandar grunted and settled back onto the floor, cross-legged and still smiling. “The King of Mages is not going anywhere. Once we do battle and emerge victorious, the Incineration will be halted. I am positive your students will be restored as though nothing had transpired.” El-Melloi took a deep breath and centered his thoughts. Temporal phenomena and abnormalities in the space-time continuum were a bit beyond his area of expertise, and they were definitely beyond Iskandar’s. But the other man’s words had some merit to them. Defeat the King of Mages, restore the foundation of humanity, then…

“You’re probably right…” He replied, picking up his controller from where it had fallen on his bed and finally managing a genuine smile in the other man’s direction. “Thank you.” Iskandar nodded with a smile and turned back to the screen to resume the game. Even if he’d gotten the hang of it, the King of Conquerors was still losing quite badly.

“What are they like?” He asked and El-Melloi couldn’t help but smile fondly.

“Incorrigible trouble-makers the lot of them.” He replied. “They’re absolutely horrid.” Iskandar gave a laugh.

“I suppose they take after their teacher.” No sooner had he made that comment than El-Melloi sent a volley of gunfire to decimate Iskandar’s infantry. Victory number five for the Velvet Empire.

“That’s five in a row. Would that make me the King of Conquerors now?”

“Absolutely not Strategist!”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It had been several days since Iskandar’s summoning and El-Melloi was rather shocked to find out that no one had told him about the Servant’s “favorite past time.” So he figured that since Ritsuka had given them both some time off from Fieldwork, he’d show the other man himself.

“So you mean to say that Servants are able to gamble on which Servants Ritsuka will summon using this?”

“Precisely.” So far, Iskandar seemed to understand just fine.

“But if we have no money, what exactly are we gambling for?”

“Pride, clout, and bragging rights…”

“Truly the best materials to gamble with.” Iskandar nodded and smiled, obviously pleased at the idea. El-Melloi had to agree with him. Sometimes, gambling without money resulted in some rather interesting bets being placed. Iskandar nodded next to him.

“Although, there is something I don’t understand.” He muttered while looking towards the Summoning Board. “That Ritsuka girl, it sounds like she’s capable of summoning more than one Servant at a time.” El-Melloi nodded, then realized that Iskandar wasn’t watching him.

“Yes. The largest number she can draw is 10. But summoning in Chaldea doesn’t always result in a Servant.”

“Hoh?”

“More often than not, she’ll summon different Craft Essences, Embers and Flames of Wisdom, those sorts of things. Every now and then she’ll pull a Servant who’s already been summoned to Chaldea.” Iskandar nodded once more, actually turning to face El-Melloi.

“And how is Ritsuka able to provide all of us with enough Mana to maintain our forms?” He paused, a horrified look coming over his face. “Does she have to-”

“No.” El-Melloi cut him off and Iskandar sagged in relief. The Professor cleared his throat as his face turned red. The thought of Ritsuka restoring Mana the traditional way with the dozens of Servants was not something he cared to imagine and it was obvious that Iskandar felt the same way. “Chaldea was built over an active leyline in Antarctica. The structure of the building and it’s placement on that leyline allows for the facility itself to provide Mana as opposed to Ritsuka. It’s kind of like a giant architectural Mystic Code and…” He trailed off as he noticed Iskandar looking towards the Summoning Board once more, not giving him the slightest bit of attention. “You’re not listening at all, are you…” No response. El-Melloi sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose in annoyance. A slight sense of deja-vu overtook the Professor and he vaguely recalled an afternoon spent in Fuyuki’s shopping district. “No fighting, no pillaging.”

“What?” Oh good, that still worked. El-Melloi waved a hand dismissively as he moved to find a good spot in the Hall.

“Nevermind. She’ll start trying to summon soon so get comfortable.” He sunk into a chair and noticed Iskandar following suit. It was certainly shaping up to be an interesting afternoon to place bets. Ritsuka had previously mentioned making an attempt to summon a powerful Servant recently, so the hall should be packed. And yet the hall was bare of any Servants or staff alike.

“It seems we’re the only ones interested in gambling today, Strategist…”

“It’s not usually so empty when Ritsuka is performing a summoning…” El-Melloi could understand it if only one or two other Servants had come to watch the Summoning, but he and Iskandar were literally the only ones in the hall. Not only that, but they hadn’t encountered anyone else while on the way to the Summoning Board.

“Perhaps they’ve grown bored of it.” Iskandar replied. That would explain the absence of other people, but for everyone to grow bored at the same time? Highly unlikely. Luckily for them, a certain genius Shopkeeper chose that moment to pop into the hall, beautiful face oddly pale.

“Iskandar! Lord El-Melloi!”

“The Se-” DaVinci grabbed his arm, cutting him off and hauling him to his feet.

“Never mind that, I’ve been looking everywhere for you! Come on!” And with that, DaVinci dragged him away down the halls of Chaldea, Iskandar close on their heels.

“What is the cause for alarm DaVinci?” He asked and she turned back to look at him. In all of Chaldea’s operations, El-Melloi had never seen the woman so distressed. Had something happened to Ritsuka? Was there an irregularity in Chaldea’s operation?

“Ritsuka’s pulling for the big one this time.” El-Melloi rolled his eyes and almost felt ridiculous for being so worried.

“What else is new?” He grumbled and DaVinci’s head whirled around to give him an unnerving glare.

“No, you don’t understand. There have been rumors floating around Chaldea’s Staff for days now. Something about the alignment of the stars affecting the probability of summon-”  
“Get to the point DaVinci.” El-Melloi interjected, finally succeeding in wrenching his arm from the fellow Caster’s grasp. “So she’s pulling for a big one again, what of it?” Pausing to look back at the two men, DaVinci shook her head.

“Not _just_ a big one. She’s pulling for **THE** big one…” **The** Big One? Which Servant could possibly describe? Who had earned the right to be considered **THE** big one in the mind of another Heroic Spirit? And with a sinking feeling, El-Melloi realized exactly who DaVinci was talking about before her next statement. “The King of Heroes.”

The world seemed to spin away from El-Melloi as he felt his breath rise rapidly in his chest, as the beat of his heart quickened and blood rushed through his ears with a dull roar, as memories of a Red Bridge and a Golden Glow and the spray of his King’s blood through the air flooded his mind.

“The King of Heroes?” DaVinci turned to Iskandar and nodded, face drawn and grim.

“She’s trying to summon Gilgamesh…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know, I believe I made a point about this earlier, but if you summon El-Melloi as early as Singularity F, almost every Singularity could possibly reopen a ton of trauma for him relating back to the Fourth Grail War... Something fun to think about, yeah? I wasn't exactly sure if I should include the parallels between Mash and Grey at first, but I decided to go for it. They're both connected to the Round Table, they're both incredibly shy/sweet people, and they were both forced to become vessels for Heroic Spirits against their will. It's mostly a headcanon of mine, but I feel as though Mash would remind El-Melloi of Grey at times. Not every time they interact, just sometimes. On the other hand, Ritsuka definitely reminds him of Flat and it gives him no end of headaches... In any case, Shout Outs go to Lintella, Daughter Of The Wise One (vicspeaks), and AthenaMasquerade for their comments on the last chapter! Thanks also go to FrostfireEzreal and 4 guests for leaving Kudos since the last chapter as well! Hope you enjoyed and I'll see you in the next chapter!


	8. The King

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A second King arrives at Chaldea.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unfortunately, I don't have too much to say in regards to opening notes. Sorry about that. Anyway, hope you enjoy the chapter!

_The King of Conquerors knew of a Red Bridge, a Golden Glow, and a deep, almost foreign emotion. In his first life, he’d lived fully, laughed loudly, and departed the world with no regrets. Even now, with his limbs bound, with his lifeblood spilling out onto the ground beneath him, with his body impaled on the blunt tip of Ea, there was nothing about this second life he wanted to change, undo, or alter in any way. Not his summoning, not the war, not the boy he’d found himself bound to. Instead, the King of Conquerors found himself besotted with the petty bitterness that came from having something within his grasp, so close he could almost feel it, only for it to slip away in an instant._

_I wanted to live once more…_

_I wanted you to stay by my side…_

_I wanted to show you the ocean at the end of the world…_

_Then the golden glow brightened as the King’s mouth moved to form words the King of Conquerors could not perceive. And as his blood poured forth from his chest, he swore he could hear the faint roar of a distant ocean as it flowed through his veins…_

With a blink, the recollection faded from Iskandar’s mind and he found himself returning to awareness in the halls of Chaldea, rushing after DaVinci as she dragged the Strategist behind her. Briefly, he considered forgoing the gambling for today to return to his quarters and rest. After all, it could not be a good sign if the strange dreams had begun to find him while he was awake and aware. But his curiosity and desire to see the outcome of Ritsuka’s summoning attempts won out and he silently followed the two Casters through the halls. He thought he could recall several rumors surrounding this so-called “King of Heroes.” That the man was tempestuous, cruel, and powerful enough to justify the arrogant way in which he carried himself. It seemed to Iskandar that Ritsuka’s success in this endeavor would be defined not by her ability to call him forth, but whether or not she was capable of earning the allegiance of such a Servant.

There was a hallway on one of the upper floors of Chaldea that had only half a wall affixed with a railing. It offered no view of the outside world, no view of snow and wind and surrounding mountains, but it did offer a rather spectacular look into the Summoning Room. The hallway in question was usually barren, populated sparsely by the scant few Servants and Staff who found the time to peer in at Ritsuka’s attempts at summoning. Today however, the entire length of the hall seemed to be packed with humans and Servants alike, buzzing with excitement, swapping gossip, and trading bets. Iskandar barely had to raise his voice and the throng parted. Whether it was due to his towering frame or the determined look on DaVinci’s face as she marched forward, he was unsure. Eventually, after shouldering past the crowd, they found themselves in the company of another Servant, a Lancer in green Iskandar had seen in the company of the Strategist from time to time. DaVinci finally released her captive, pressed herself against the railing and shot a question towards their new companion.

“Well Diarmuid? Anything?” The Lancer, Diarmuid it would seem, shook his head with a sigh.

“She hasn’t summoned anyone new just yet, but she’s only pulled twice, so there’s still a chance…” DaVinci nodded in response as the Strategist squeezed between her and Diarmuid.

“How much does she have left?” She demanded. The Lancer blinked, somewhat taken aback by the urgency in her voice before replying.

“About Four-hundred and Fifty Units.”

“That much?”

“She’s been saving up.” Diarmuid announced, almost proudly, and Iskandar hummed to himself, watching as a gleam of light rose from the summoning pool to coalesce into the form of a card. Craft Essence. Even from here, it was easy to see the way the girl’s shoulders slumped, defeated only for a moment before straightening to witness the next result of her summoning.

“So Four-hundred and Fifty Units at Thirty Quartz a summon…” He murmured, crunching the numbers in his head before DaVinci answered.

“That would be Fifteen pulls…” The King nodded in agreement, his mind turning towards Ritsuka’s efforts in the other room.

Even though he’d grown accustomed to Chaldea, Ritsuka’s method of summoning Heroic Spirits en masse remained a foreign and strange concept to him. Surely, one Master alone would not be able to provide the Mana necessary for their continued upkeep. He vaguely recalled the strategist explaining something about leyline placement and how it allowed Chaldea itself to provide Mana as opposed to Ritsuka herself… But that wasn’t important at that moment. The important thing was that Ritsuka had enough Saint Quartz for fifteen more of those strange bulk summons of hers.

“And with ten a pull, she has One-hundred and Fifty more chances to summon the King of Heroes.” He concluded with a triumphant grin and a fold of his arms. “Those odds sound quite favorable!”

“But Gilgamesh is supposed to be extremely hard to summon.” Diarmuid countered with another shake of his head. “Master Ritsuka has certainly pulled off some impressive gambits before, but I think this one is a bit beyond her…” Beside them, DaVinci had not taken her eyes off the summoning attempts.

“So what do you say Iskandar?” She asked as an Ember materialized before Ritsuka’s form. “Is she gonna do it?”

“Of course. As I’ve said before, her odds sound favorable.”

“She doesn’t have a lot of luck when it comes to summoning high ranking servants like Gilgamesh.” The Caster replied. “I mean, she got really lucky when she summoned you and El-Melloi, but something like this…” As she trailed off, a low, dark chuckle rose from the Servant standing on DaVinci’s other side. Iskandar vaguely recognized the striped attire and white hair as Chaldea’s sole Avenger, Salieri he believed. A man devoted only to revenge, music, and apparently the whims of his Master. He’d invited the man to join his forces at some point in the past, but the Avenger had launched into a rambling spiel about death, suffering and the misfortune that was sure to befall any who allied themselves with him. Iskandar had taken it to mean his offer was declined…

“You are correct, Lady DaVinci…” Salieri gave another low cackle before elaborating. “After all, Master Ritsuka has summoned a Harbinger of Death such as myself. Therefore, it stands to reason that her overall fortune is simply abysmal, almost to the point of non-existence.” He paused, turning his attention to Iskandar for a moment. “She is also correct in saying that the summoning of you and Lord El-Melloi II are nothing more than exceptions to this undeniable truth, King of Conquerors. Two bright points of success does little to mar the dark curtain that is our Master’s fortune and fate.” Iskandar gave a shake of his head as Ritsuka pulled yet another Craft Essence. It was beginning to look as though Diarmuid had a point. Still…

“There’s no need to sound so gloomy Salieri…” He replied. “I take this to mean you’re betting she won’t summon the King of Heroes?” The musician answered with an almost offended scoff.

“Hardly. If the rumors surrounding this “King of Heroes” hold any truth to them, rumors of his cruel and heartless nature, it stands to reason that summoning such a monstrous Servant would certainly lead to that Master’s ruination and downfall. If Master Ritsuka’s luck is poor enough, such a Servant would not be out of her reach.” The Avenger concluded with a dejected grin while everyone within earshot was left to try and figure out just what the hell he’d said.

_Ruination and downfall? Dark fabric of fate?_ Iskandar gave an irritated huff and rolled his eyes. Why couldn’t the musician simply say what he was thinking plain and simple? Eventually, DaVinci seemed to make something coherent out of his rambling.

“So…” She replied, finally turning away from the view of the Summoning Room. “You’re saying that actually summoning Gilgamesh would be considered unlucky, and Ritsuka’s luck is so poor that she’ll summon him because of that?” Beside her, the musician blinked and looked somewhat addled.

“Yes. Was I not clear?”

“No, not really.” Diarmuid answered, looking between Salieri and Iskandar. “It looks like you two are the only ones with any faith in Master Ritsuka. How about you, Professor?” He paused, several seconds of silence passing before Diarmuid realized the Strategist hadn’t answered him. “Lord El-Melloi?” Iskandar glanced at the Strategist and found him staring down into the room, teeth clenched, fingers gripping the railing so tightly his knuckles had turned white, a look of apprehension mixed with fury on his face. He was not a very talkative man under normal circumstances, but Iskandar was beginning to realize that the Strategist had not said a single word since they’d reached the hallway. He almost asked what was wrong, why the other man seemed so horrified and outraged, but a sound from the room below caused him and everyone else present to freeze.

“Hey!” Ritsuka had noticed them. “What are you all doing up there?” Iskandar glanced around at the tense faces of everyone else. It seemed as though they were reluctant to answer. Seemed strange to him, why shouldn’t their Master be included in the revelry of her Servants?   
“We are placing bets on whether or not the King of Heroes will heed your summons girl!” He called down to her. On the edge of his vision, he was vaguely aware of the others looking at him with barely concealed looks of horror and a few murmurs of “what the _Hell_ Iskandar?” He paid them no mind. Ritsuka didn’t seem to worry about them either.

“And? What’s the verdict?”

“Most think not, however Salieri and I have every confidence that you will succeed in this endeavor!” She nodded, smiling with flushed cheeks before something occurred to her.

“What are you even betting with?” He grinned before offering a response.

“Pride, clout, and bragging rights!” The girl answered his smile with one of her own.

“Well with that on the line, I’ll try not to let you down!”

“That’s the spirit girl! Do your Servants proud!” Ritsuka gave a bold nod and turned back to the summoning pool, determination restored. The mood of the watching Servants seemed to be lifted as well, even as Ritsuka’s pulls remained unchanged.

Craft Essence…

Ember of Wisdom…

Craft Essence…

Another Mozart and a howl from Salieri…

Craft Essence…

Craft Essence…

And then the pool glowed golden as a beam of light erupted forth. The Servants broke into a smattering of chatter as the emblem of the Archer Class materialized.

“That’s a Servant!”

“That’s a _strong_ Servant…”

“Five Star Archer!”

“Could always be Tesla…”

And then the chatter died as a man with red eyes and gold armor stepped out of the pool, took one look at Ritsuka, and burst into a high cruel laugh.

“For you to summon me like this,” he announced. “I see your luck has run out, Mongrel!” And Iskandar found himself reminded of the words of a golden-haired man who’d spoken as he bled out onto the red bridge.

_Feel free to challenge me again as often as you like, King of Conquerors._

“Gilgamesh, the King of Heroes…” Ritsuka’s words pulled Iskandar from the memory. She was standing before the King of Heroes, awestruck before stepping forward with her hand extended to take his. “It’s an-”

“Impudent Mongrel!” He did not strike her, but his words were sharp and heavy with power that they sent Ritsuka stumbling back anyway. “Who gave you permission to approach me?” The King of Heroes folded his arms as the air behind him glowed and several holes in reality itself tore open, each revealing a multitude of weapons, swords, spears and battle axes pointed in Ritsuka’s direction-

And with a lurch of realization, Iskandar, noticed that nothing but empty air stood between the displeased Servant and his Master…

He was a simple man, but despite what others called him, he was not an idiot. Calling forth Bucephalus or his Gordius Wheel while surrounded by the crowd would be unwise. However, he could still call forth his blade. It seemed most of the others had the same realization. Diarmuid’s spears, the Strategist’s fan, Salieri’s armor and a number of the other Noble Phantasms manifested in the hands of their Servants primed and ready to strike should Ritsuka call them forth…

To her credit, the girl managed to regain her balance and even as her voice shook with fear, she stood straight and looked Gilgamesh in the eyes.

“I mean, I’m the one who summoned you so-”

“You expect me to believe such a tale?” The golden king gave another laugh. “A common worm such as yourself has no business being within my sights, let alone summoning me!” The weapons remained trained on Ritsuka as she raised her hands in a gesture of supplication.

“Okay then, I won’t approach you.” She replied, still backing away.. “Will you at least hear me out? Please?” The King of Heroes paused and Iskandar could see him give a condescending look from the Master in front of him to the army of Servants looking coiled and ready to spring the moment he gave them reason to. It seemed he had no desire to bother with a battle immediately after his summoning. He gave a curt nod, the tears in reality behind him closed before he turned to answer Ritsuka. No one else relaxed. Iskandar could practically feel their tension, the instinct innate to most Servants that demanded they protect the Master who had bound them.

“Very well.” Gilgamesh scoffed as he regarded the girl before him. You may proceed, Mongrel.” And she did. To his credit, Gilgamesh listened to her entire explanation, from her arrival at Chaldea to the Incineration of Humanity to the implementation of the Grand Order. At the very least, the fact that he waited for Ritsuka to finish before laughing in her face spoke volumes to what little tact he had.

“And tell me,” Gilgamesh spoke, folding his arms once again. “What reason would I have to aid a humanity that has done nothing but disappoint and bore me?” Ritsuka stepped backwards again, less because she wanted to pacify the Servant and more because she was taken aback by his response.

“I-You’re a hero, right? The King of Heroes? Aren’t heroes supposed to aid those in need? So why-” With a wave of his hand that made even Iskandar flinch a little, Gilgamesh cut off Ritsuka’s line of questions.

“I have neither the desire nor the prerogative to explain myself to a simple dog commanding an army of fleas!” His voice rose and Ritsuka actually did stumble to the floor from the power in his voice. Meanwhile, the Servants of Chaldea prepared to leap into battle until Ritsuka stood on shaking legs.

“I…” She replied, brushing her skirt off and giving a disappointed sigh. “That’s fine. I can’t really make you do anything you don’t want to…” From the balcony, Iskandar could see Gilgamesh raise an eyebrow, more curious than confused.

“Are you dismissing me, Mongrel?”

“If I say yes, you’ll probably say “what an arrogant worm, thinking you can dismiss me,” or something like that…” Ritsuka replied with a fairly decent imitation of the Golden man. “But if you’re not going to do anything, if you’re just gonna sit here and insult everything we’re working for, then yes. If you’re going to act like you don’t deserve the title King of Heroes, then yes. You are dismissed. And stop calling me Mongrel!” She finished, folding her arms and stomping her foot with a petulance that reminded Iskandar of a child far younger than Rituska’s own years. Meanwhile, he and the rest of the Servants waited with baited breath to see how Gilgamesh, King of Heroes, would react to her dismissal, command, and insult. It started out low, then the rest of the hallway heard as Gilgamesh’s low chuckle grew and bloomed into a full-blown, haughty laugh.

“To bare your fangs so boldly at me! What an insolent, amusing dog you are!” His laugh continued to grow louder before he appeared to calm himself enough to answer Ritsuka’s goad. “Very well. So long as you can provide me with compensation for my services and sufficient entertainment, I shall consider you my Master for the time being.”

“I can work with that.” “Welcome to Chaldea. Would you like me to show you around?” Gilgamesh sneered at the offered hand, but he also gave a nonchalant shrug and a reply.

“I shall allow it, Mongrel.” And that was how they left the room, the Master of Chaldea leading the King of Heroes into the hallway while the rest of her Servants looked on. As soon as the two of them were out of sight, the entire hallway let out a collective sigh of relief as dozens of Noble Phantasms dematerialized into thin air.

“That’s unbelievable…” DaVinci muttered as she slumped against the railing. Beside her, Diarmuid followed suit and Salieri let out a smug, miserable sounding chuckle.

“I informed you all of Master Ritsuka’s poor luck…”

“Yeah, but it looks like _we’re_ the ones who are going to suffer for it…” But Iskandar…

Iskandar wasn’t entirely sure how he ought to feel about the King of Heroes. His arrogance was befitting of a king and the raw power he exuded certainly made it seem as though such confidence was well earned. And yet he couldn’t help but be slightly unnerved in the other’s presence…

It would not do to over-think things like this. The important thing was that the King of Heroes seemed every bit as powerful as the rumors surrounding him claimed, and in a fashion, he’d decided to aid them in their goal. Not only that, but Iskandar had just claimed his first victory gambling at Chaldea. That was certainly cause for delight. As such, Iskandar clapped the Strategist on the back and gave a booming laugh.

“Well, the King of Heroes seems to be a strong ally. Wouldn’t you agree?” No response came from the Strategist. In fact, the man had not budged, had not relaxed at all with the exit of Ritsuka and Gilgamesh. And Iskandar had a sinking feeling that there was something the other man was not sharing about the King of Heroes. “Strategist?” The man continued to hold the railing in a white knuckled grip and until the Strategist mumbled a reply through gritted teeth, Iskandar thought he had not been heard.

“I don’t want him here…”

“Hmm?” The Strategist’s hands tightened almost impossibly and Iskandar could see him actually quivering with how tense his body was.

“I don’t want him here.” He ground out, voice turning cold-blooded. “I don’t want him in Chaldea. I don’t want him anywhere near Ritsuka or you or me or anyone else I don’t-” Iskandar clapped him on the shoulder once more, snapping him out of it. The Strategist’s head swiveled around to look at Iskandar. There was no trace of the hatred that had dripped from his voice, none of the malice. Instead, he looked as though he’d been caught off guard, more scared and vulnerable than Iskandar had ever seen him before. Iskandar could almost relate. For all the advantages gained by adding Gilgamesh to their number, there was still the familiar way his weapons had glowed golden, the red eyes of those with divine lineage, the cadence of his voice that Iskandar could have sworn he’d heard before…

_This entire world is my garden until the very end of time. Thus I guarantee you this- it will never bore you._

In the future, Ritsuka would surely give the rest of the Servants her standard “you don’t have to get along but just remember we’re on the same side” speech and both Iskandar and the Strategist would need to swallow any animosity that existed between himself and the King of Heroes. Surely it wouldn’t be impossible. After all, Iskandar himself had outright detested the other man when they’d first met and now…

Banishing his apprehensions, Iskandar gave the strategist another well-meaning pat on the shoulder and a smile filled with sympathy.

“I’m sure you’ll manage, Strategist…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It seems as though Gilfest has come early this year. Whether that's a good thing or a bad thing is up to you. As for me, well I remember getting to Babylonia, seeing Gilgamesh of all people actually being _nice_ (sort of) and having to pause for a bit because the image simply did not compute whatsoever. Also, I adore Salieri, I adore Iskandar, and in some ways I even adore Gilgamesh, but I hope that I don't have to write any dialogue between the three of them because there's only so much archaic voice I can write before it just turns into purple-prose-esque babble... Anyways, Shout outs go to AthenaMasquerade and Lintella for their comments on the last chapter! Thanks also go out to IvoryKeen, ZooFan, ShtormVor, and Saalej for leaving Kudos as well! As usual, I hope you enjoyed and I'll see you in the next chapter!


	9. The Compromise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Strategist tries and fails to live with the King of Heroes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not much to say about this chapter either. I gotta admit though, I actually enjoy writing over-the-top dialogue for Gilgamesh, even if half of it does consist of "Mongrel mongrel boredom mongrel" or something like that... Speaking of, you also get to see some awesome Gilgamesh this chapter too! Anyways, thanks for reading and I hope you enjoy!

The Wolfman howled and lunged forward and the wicked blade it held carved through Lord El-Melloi’s torso before he could blink. It wasn’t enough to kill him outright. But it hurt like all hell, even for a being made of spirit and not much else. Ritsuka darted next to him, laying a hand on his arm and opening a small flow of Mana between them. It wasn’t much in the way of First Aid, but he appreciated the gesture all the same.

“Are you alright?”

“Just peachy…” He answered, feeling far too sanguine for a man who had nearly been cleaved open by a sword. A familiar glow enveloped the battlefield and the sounds of high pitched yelps and clashing metal reached their ears. El-Melloi grimaced as a voice rose over the cacophony of battle.

“Come now, dying to these lowly dogs would be shameful!” Gilgamesh crowed from where he stood on the battlefield. Damn bastard hadn’t moved an inch since they’d been attacked. Just stood there with his arms folded and face drawn into an arrogant smirk. “And you call yourself a Servant?” El-Melloi resisted the urge to roll his eyes and remind the blonde Archer that he wasn’t dead, thank you very much. Instead, he put his remaining focus on tracking the remaining Wolfmen as they disappeared into the thick undergrowth of the forest. They seemed to do that a lot, hit the group and retreat back into the safety of the tree line.

“Any brilliant strategies?” Ritsuka glanced nervously around as the trees rustled.

 _Employing hit and run tactics…_ Had Mash been with them, she could have utilized her Noble Phantasm as a line of defense while he and the Archer prepared a counterattack. But for whatever reason, Ritsuka had seen fit to give her the day off. As such, their party consisted only of El-Melloi, Gilgamesh, and Ritsuka herself. _If we can’t defend, we’ll need to take them out instantly as they strike...._ He paused for a moment, mind running through everything he could recall about the Wolfmen. _Werewolves, Saber Class, Earth attribute, that would mean…_

“We’ll have to hit and kill them before they can attack and retreat.” He announced and turned to look directly at the Archer. “With that in mind, that responsibility ought to fall to the only one of us who can easily attack multiple targets at once without lifting a finger.” For once, Ritsuka seemed to understand his line of thought perfectly and her head swiveled around to fix Gilgamesh with a pointed stare. It took the Archer several seconds to notice, as though El-Melloi and Ritsuka were discussing mundane topics that were of little concern to him. As though the mere act of contributing or speaking to the other two was beneath him, even in the heat of battle. Instead, he regarded them casually, as though he had all the time in the world, and eventually sneered at El-Melloi.

“Are you referring to me?” The Caster froze and felt his entire being go rigid under the weight of Gilgamesh’s notice. For an instant, it was as though nothing had changed, as though he were still the inexperienced boy in way over his head with nothing between him and the other Servant right after-

No, he was not going to think about that in the middle of a battle, nor was he going to give into his instinct to curl in on himself in the face of the Golden Archer. Instead, El-Melloi repeated his actions from far back in the past. (They’d kept him alive back then, hadn’t they? They’d been the one thing I got right back then, yeah?) He held his head high, met the King of Heroes gaze head on, and willed his body not to tremble too visibly. Mercifully, Ritsuka nodded and answered Gilgamesh, drawing his attention to her instead. El-Melloi did not relax.

“Can you do it?” The King of Heroes responded to her with an offended scoff and a roll of his eyes.

“What do you take me for, Mongrel?” At that moment, their discussion was interrupted by another howl and the sound of feet pounding across the ground. Without so much as a look over his shoulder, Gilgamesh stood and the air glowed gold as space itself rippled and parted around them to make way for swords, spears, axes, an unholy number of blades primed and ready. Gilgamesh roared “Begone fools!” and the sound of steel flying through the air was punctuated by the pained yelps of the Werewolves as they were run through all at once.

El-Melloi swallowed hard as his mind defied his orders to not think about Fuyuki, the Red Bridge or the golden swords covered in blood… He barely heard what the Archer said to Ritsuka as she walked forward to gather whatever the Wolfmen had dropped. Something something boredom, something something mongrel, the usual fare when it came to Gilgamesh. For the most part, Ritsuka ignored his tirade as well, pausing to give El-Melloi a well meaning, somewhat tired pat on the arm.

“Thank you for your hard work.” She murmured and glanced at the materials in her arms. “I think that’s enough for today.” El-Melloi nodded, trying to ignore the annoyed huff of the Archer behind them. Annoyed and antagonistic servants were part and parcel to Chaldea. Even so, El-Melloi would need to speak with Ritsuka. He _really_ needed to speak with Ritsuka, and as soon as possible. But not at this very moment. Such a discussion could wait until they returned to the safety of Chaldea and far away from any other Wolfmen.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Entering Singularities and returning from them was always an exercise in strangeness. At first, El-Melloi had poured over every record on the process of Rayshifting, eager to understand what exactly happened every time they went into the field, curious as to the apparent fusion between science and Magecraft Chaldea seemed to be founded on. Along the way however, he’d recalled one of the core principles of Magecraft itself. The more the mystery was uncovered, the less powerful and effective it became. And given the apparently delicate nature of Rayshifting, perhaps the less he understood about it the better. As they returned to the main Control Room, Ritsuka bade both him and Gilgamesh goodbye before heading off to resume whatever business she got up to outside work. She did not get very far when El-Melloi caught up to her, face pulled into a slight frown. He did not usually do this, did not usually raise many complaints with the Master of Chaldea, but this was an exception.

“Master? A word?” He nodded to the empty hallway, implications clear. Her face fell and Ritsuka followed El-Melloi, pausing to make sure Gilgamesh was out of earshot.

“I know, he’s kind of an ass. Please, just bear with it…” She begged. El-Melloi sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. It wouldn’t do to whine or complain or throw a tantrum like a petulant child. He was a Lord of the Clocktower dammit and he could discuss the issues calmly and maturely. The tantrum would be saved for the confines of his room later on.

“I understand how you feel about personal grudges between Servants,” he began, rather pleased about how he managed to keep his voice even. “and I promise you that I have no intention of disrupting your alliance with _him_ at all. But if you’re intent on calling me out to do Fieldwork, I ask that you put me with _literally anyone_ else.” That hadn’t been too terrible. He’d said his piece, now it was on Ritsuka. Compared to the various and sometimes absurd demands she catered to, his request was downright reasonable. Even so, Ritsuka gave a nervous laugh and a shrug as a response.

“Come on Professor, today wasn’t so bad-”

“Ritsuka, I would rather be on a team with Gilles de Rais than I would with him.”

“Really?”

“Yes.” Truth be told, he didn’t feel a particularly strong desire to cooperate with the Caster-turned-Saber either, but she didn’t need to know that at the moment. Ritsuka shrugged and mirrored the Professor’s look of mild frustration.

“You’ve never had a problem working with other Servants before, so, what’s the problem with him?” Something something preferred not to go into too much detail about his previous life.

“Some time ago…” “I witnessed someone rather important to me cut down by the King of Heroes…” Hopefully that would be sufficient. Ritsuka nodded, a look of sympathy on her face.

“Okay, I can see why you wouldn’t- Wait, Uruk and China were nowhere near each other.” Apparently it wouldn’t. “How did you-”

“I didn’t meet him as Zhuge Liang, Ritsuka.”

“Then, as Lord El-Melloi?”

“The Second.” Ritsuka paused at that, thinking about his words and the implications of what El-Melloi was saying.

“Does it have anything to do with that “thing” you don’t like to talk about?” Ah yes. The “thing” as she called it. Even during his initial introduction to servitude, El-Melloi had kept his history to himself and that had worked just fine, thank you very much. She knew the basics, that he was a Pseudo-Servant, a strange fusion of Magus and Heroic Spirit, known that he’d been a professor at the Clocktower, that he’d had some kind of experience with Fuyuki City and that had been enough for her. Even now, she did not really _need_ to know every detail about the Fourth Grail War. A simple outline would suffice for now.

“Have you heard of the Fuyuki Holy Grail War?” To his mild surprise, Ritsuka nodded. A slightly melancholic expression formed on her face. That was all she gave him by way of an answer, so he sighed once more and continued. “Well, before I became a Professor, I was involved in one such war as a Master.” It was like a switch flipped in Ritsuka. One moment she was weighed down by the horrible experiences of the first Singularity and the next, she was staring at him, eyes wide with amazement as though what he’d just said was unbelievable and beyond belief. Perhaps such behavior was a form of avoidance, a way to focus on anything other than Fuyuki. He couldn’t blame her in that case.

“Really!? Then, did you win and wish to become a Heroic Spirit or something?” El-Melloi gave a light chuckle at her astonishment and his eyes wandered to the back of his right hand.

“Hardly. I lost.” And indeed he had; lost the war, lost the grail, he even lost- “Gilgamesh had been summoned during that war and he cut down my Servant in front of me.” The wonder faded from Ritsuka’s gaze, instead giving way to sympathy and understanding.

“No wonder you don’t like him…” She replied before stretching her arms out in front of her. “Well, I can’t promise you won’t run into each other in the hall or anything, but I’m sure there are other Servants that don’t have problems working with him.” Bless her heart. If nothing else Ritsuka felt no need to pry into the personal business of her Servants.

“Thank you.” The Master of Chaldea shrugged and gave the Caster an unconcerned smile.

“Besides, maybe you’ll wind up getting along. I mean, look at you and Iskandar. He practically hated you when you first met and now you two seem to get along just fine.” Did they really? True, the other man no longer looked at him with outright disdain and loathing as he’d previously done, but El-Melloi couldn’t help but think of what he’d said several days ago, about how it was harder to dislike him if he was called “Strategist” instead of his name. Did that mean Iskandar still harbored some feelings of scorn? Was El-Melloi still unworthy in some way? Did he-

No.

No, the Iskandar he’d known was rather open in declaring his contempt for others. The fact that he had not done so at this point should have proved his feelings towards the Caster had improved at least somewhat.

“You might have a point…” He conceded and bid Ritsuka goodbye. As he strode down the hall, he almost missed Ritsuka calling after him.

“Hey, which Servant did you summon in that Grail War?”

“I summoned Rider.”

“Yeah but which one?” He could hear that last question, but luckily for him, he was far away enough that he could ignore it and pretend not to have heard it. Ritsuka did not pry when it was unwelcome, true, but that did not mean she was immune to curiosity. She would have to live without an answer for not.

And as El-Melloi strode out of sight, Ritsuka vaguely wondered whether the Caster had met Marisbury Animusphere and why none of Chaldea’s records mentioned the participation of one Lord El-Melloi II in the Fuyuki Grail War.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Similar to the opening, I don't really have too much to say in regards to trivia/ending notes for this chapter. Sorry about that... In any case, Special thanks go out to eph1027, vicspeaks, Lintella, and IvoryKeen for their comments on the last chapter! Extra shout outs go to Twinkles1827, Berricko, tardis_tied, vicspeaks, and eph1027 for leaving kudos as well. As always, thanks for reading and I'll see you in the next chapter!


	10. The Nectar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Kings partake in a battle and partake in a toast.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And the plot begins to thicken. So, something happened that has never happened to me before. I actually managed to clear every mission in the Zero Order event... Anyways, here's the next chapter, hope you enjoy!

_“They’re not really my grandparents, they just **think** we’re related.” The King of Conquerors could recall a room made of wood. It had been small. Even if he’d been summoned with a more diminutive stature, the room would have still been small. Despite its size, the space was more congenial than cloying, more comfortable than constricting. Enclosed, yes, but he supposed it was the same sort of closed off sense animals felt when curled away in their burrows for the night or for winter. Yes, his lodgings back then had been quite adequate. More than adequate in fact. And judging from what little he’d seen of the boy’s grandparents, they seemed to be a fine pair indeed. He’d said something to that effect earlier, only for the boy to roll his eyes and correct him. “I just figured that it would be less expensive than staying in a hotel for the war.”_

_The King of Conquerors had to applaud the boy for his foresight. There was no telling how long this War would last after all. Paying for lodging would obviously be inconvenient. Not only that, but to convince the couple that he was their grandson spoke volumes to the boy’s skill at deception. If things did not work out for him over the course of the War, perhaps he could seek his fortune as a thespian. He’d told the boy as much and was greeted with an answering scoff._

_“It’s nothing like that idiot! It’s a charm!” He’d ceased listening to the boy at that point, memory returning to centuries before. He’d done something like that, hadn’t he? Yes, he had. “And what’s so funny?” He hadn’t realized that he’d begun to laugh at the recollection and how similar it was to the boy’s situation in the present. So he’d told him; told him about Persia, his conquest and his capture of the mother of his rival, Sisygambis. That had earned a snicker from the boy._

_“Your rival was named Sisygambis?”_

_No, Darius III had been his rival. Sisygambis had been his mother._

_“I see…”_

_He’d continued uninterrupted, about how they’d bought her back to their camp, how she’d mistaken Hephaestion for himself, and when she’d received word of Darius falling in battle, how she’d declared Iskandar himself her son. When he’d finished the account, a strange sound reached his ears. He looked up to find the boy hugging his middle and wheezing with laughter. Had he ever done this in the short time since the King of Conquerors had met him? He couldn’t quite recall._

_“Jeez. You killed your rival and stole his mother? That’s horrible!” His laughter died down as he wiped his eyes, abruptly ceasing as he noticed the King of Conquerors staring at him. “What’s that look for?” Iskandar had responded by leaning his head into his palm and allowing his grin to widen further._

_“I’ve just witnessed a rare sight, boy. I was beginning to think you were incapable of smiling, let alone laughter!” The pillow thrown at his face and the tirade that flowed from the boy’s mouth had been rather uncalled for, but not enough to permanently wipe the smile from the King of Conqueror’s face…_

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Iskandar was rather unsure what had drawn the scene to the front of his mind. One moment, he, Ritsuka, the Shield Girl and the King of Heroes had been scouring the halls of the strange fortress for any trace of enemies and the next his mind had wandered to thoughts of the small room. He’d almost missed the appearance of a dark figure that seemed to be made of shadows. He appeared to be a spellcaster of some sort, so it was no surprise when Ritsuka turned to him expectantly.

“Iskandar, are you ready?” He grinned, even as the Shadow-Man began to chant strange incantations in a language that seemed to be meant for unhuman ears.

“Naturally girl!” His enthusiasm went unreturned as Ritsuka gave the enemy ahead a cautious glance.

“We should probably weaken him first…” The girl murmured to herself. “Gilgamesh could you-”

“And expend my treasures on a lowlife mutt?” It had occurred to Iskandar that for all his bluster and declarations, Gilgamesh hadn’t truly done anything truly noteworthy since his arrival at Chaldea. Mostly, he complained about enemies, complained about other Servants or complained about his boredom. Ritsuka, for the most part, took his bellyaching in stride. For instance, in that moment, she responded with no admonishment, no complaint of her own, no loss of her temper. She merely looked him straight in the eye and responded cooly.

“I mean, if you _can’t_ do it then…” She trailed off and Iskandar slightly turned his head to better hide a smirk. In response, Gilgamesh sneered in Ritsuka’s direction.

“Mongrel, you should choose your words more carefully…” The space around him rippled and dozens of gilded blades shot towards the Shadow. Several of them passed right through the strange foe while several more of them struck true and caused the Shadow to stumble and recoil backwards. As it struggled to stand, Ritsuka turned back to Iskandar with an eager gaze and the symbols on her right hand glowing red.

“Think you can get rid of the rest of them?”

“Of course, girl!” To some, it may have seemed wasteful or even unwise to unleash a Noble Phantasm simply to vanquish a single foe, but his Master had ordered him to so there was no helping it. As Iskandar turned his focus inward, towards his own awareness of the world, reality and his own view of it, a strange warm breeze from elsewhere in the world began to buffet the small group. Space and time twisted around them, more volatile than Gilgamesh’s treasures, churning and swirling into a whirlpool that pulled at the very fabric of reality, calling forth heat and sand. Calling forth _them_. “Come gather once more, fearless fighters that aimed together to the farthest end. The ruts carved here are our honor!”

And as always, they responded.

From over the dunes, beyond the horizon, they heeded his summons. Ptolemy, Eumenes, Mithrines, Antigonus, and so many others of their ilk. Across the endless desert, they all came. A countless number of men, _his_ men, stood primed and ready, their eagerness for battle practically a tangible presence in the air around them. With a triumphant grin, Iskandar King of Conquerors, drew both his sword and a deep breath into his lungs.

“Ionian Hetairoi!”

And as his ululation was echoed by his peerless army, they plunged forward over the dunes and the sand, dust stirring beneath the pounding of hooves and feet to rise into the endless blue sky.

The Shadow stood no chance against them. Their remaining foe, Ritsuka, the King of Heroes, the Shield Girl, all were lost amid the rush and howl of wind, the clash and clang of metal, the war cries of the infantrymen that eventually gave way to a cry of victory. It was only after the Reality Marble had dispersed, after the shadowy Caster had crumbled to dust and evaporated that he found them both; The King of Heroes standing off to the side with a rather curious expression on his face and Ritsuka hurrying with Mash over to where the shadow had scattered, likely to try and gather any resources they could. Pleased with the handiwork of his men, Iskandar dismounted Bucephalus, leading him around to where the King of Heroes stood. It was almost a surprise when the man in question turned, curiosity still evident on his face, and addressed him.

“The loyalty of your men is nothing short of splendid.” The words something something and caused a satisfied grin to spread across his face.

“I shall have to pass your compliments onto them following our next battle.” Gilgamesh nodded and turned back around to look at where Ritsuka and Mash had continued to scour the ground for any additional materials.

“To disregard space and time alike to heed the summons of their chosen king.” “Your Noble Phantasm is quite impressive, King of Conquerors.” He smirked. “It seems as though I have found a worthwhile ally in this cesspool.” Iskandar’s smile dropped at the words and not for the first time, he felt a twinge of annoyance at the other man. There were many ways to describe Chaldea, to describe any of the Servants currently residing there. And he chose to refer to them as a “cesspool.”

“I appreciate your words of praise, King of Heroes. Unfortunately, I cannot return your them…” The scowl Gilgamesh gave him in return was something to be felt rather than seen. Still, he felt as though he owed the Archer some elaboration on a glaring shortcoming he’d noticed. “Tales of your deeds and abilities have survived the ages and there is no room to doubt your raw power on the battlefield. However, I still have yet to see you fight at full strength. Until then, I cannot truly consider you a worthy ally as well…” For several moments, the two Kings remained silent. A livid energy seeped into the air between them and Iskandar wondered for the briefest of moments whether he’d made a mistake in speaking so freely. Oh well. It was far past too late to take them back and Iskandar had no intention of doing so to begin with. He did not drop his grin.

Oblivious to the tension between them, Ritsuka jogged over. Mash, slightly more aware, lagged behind slightly, looking between Iskandar and Gilgamesh with her anxiety evident on her face.

“Nice work you two!” Ritsuka called. “I think that’ll do it for today, so let’s-”

“Mongrel!” The Archer did not take his eyes from Iskandar’s, yet it was clear from the tone of his voice who he was addressing. Beside them, Ritsuka bristled at the remark.

“I told you not to call me that!” Gilgamesh ignored her outburst, only turning to give her a withering look.

“Part of our agreement was that you would provide me with sufficient entertainment in exchange for my assistance as a Servant. Those pathetic curs you call our enemies were barely fit to be called as such, let alone satiate my ever growing boredom. Surely there are more powerful foes worthy of me in this wretched Singularity.” In response, Ritsuka grumbled, glowered, and Iskandar swore he could hear her growl like an angered beast before she sighed, seemingly in defeat.

“I’ll see what I can do…” And so they set off, wandering out of the strange fortress into the surrounding countryside. Iskandar would have readily volunteered to fight himself rather than wander around searching for another battle. Even without his insults, the chance to cross blades with the King of Heroes himself was not an opportunity that arose every day.

And yet…

And yet he couldn’t shake the strange feeling he got every time Gilgamesh put his treasury to use on the battlefield. It was not the feeling of fear or awe. Rather it was one of unease, the feeling that he’d seen such a thing before and that it had not ended well for him and-

“Incoming!” The Shield Girl’s shout was accompanied by the sound of rattling and clacking. Iskandar pulled his sword free and guided Bucephalus around to attend to the rear of the group. There were about six or seven of them in total, clad in rusting armor that clanked shifted to expose aged bone underneath.

“Skeletons, and they appear to be Sabers.” Iskandar murmured as the Shield Girl took a defensive stance beside him. Given the other man’s eagerness for a worthy enemy, he almost expected Gilgamesh to offer a quip or a smirk. Instead, all he gave was a disappointed sigh.

“Really now? This is what you find for me Mongrel?” Ritsuka merely shrugged in reply.

“If you don’t like it, you could just let Iskandar and Mash handle-” The Archer cut her off with a wave of his hand as he began to march towards the Skeletons. As he watched Gilgamesh walk forward, Iskandar could almost feel the sheer power gathering and amassing around him, swirling so wildly it was almost visible.

“These insects may be unworthy, but I will leave none of you mongrels room to doubt my prowess. Wake up, Ea!” Reality shivered momentarily and from his treasury, the king pulled out the strangest looking sword Iskandar had ever seen. There was no blade or point, only a black cone, red lines running boldly along it all the way to the blunt tip. The odd design did not seem to hamper the King of Heroes. He raised it above his head, drawing on the mana that had begun to gather. With a shudder, the surrounding area was dyed with an otherworldly red shine and a gust of wind began to buffet Iskandar and Ritsuka and Mash. And above it all, the King of Heroes continued to speak.

“The elements coalesce, amalgamate, and bring forth the star that interweaves all creation…” His voice was magnified against the howling gale around them, something something Ea continued to glow red. Iskandar felt a chill shoot through his spine at the sight and some tiny, insignificant part of his desire to fight the King of Heroes evaporated. It was as though he was focused solely on the approaching enemies, as though he wanted nothing other than their complete and utter annihilation…

As though he didn’t even see the pitiful mongrels on the ground…

“That’s-” Ritsuka’s exclamation was cut off as Iskandar grabbed her, hauled her over his shoulder, and bolted towards the Shield Girl.

“Mash!” That was all he needed. In the next five seconds, he dismissed Bucephalus, crouched behind Mash’s shield…

And the King of Heroes brought his sword down in a great and terrible sweep.

“Enuma Elish!”

There were likely many ways to describe what happened next. Mana had burst forth from the strange blade, the ground erupted beneath them, all were adequate. But for Iskandar, all he could think was that he’d been caught in the end of the world.

He, Mash, and Ritsuka had been spared only by the graces of the girl’s shield, her quick reflexes and Iskandar’s warning shout. When they raised their heads after the roaring had ceased, the surrounding area was gutted, picked clean by the destructive force of the Gilgamesh’s mana channeled by the sword, by Ea. The man in question was standing in the center of the smoldering crater where the Skeletons used to be. There was no trace of them. No armor, no bones, nothing in the place of remains. The material plane rippled and the fearsome blade was returned to his treasury and Gilgamesh turned and strode out of the crater as though it was merely a slight dip in the ground.

“Do you still question my power, King of Conquerors?”

Even with the vague feeling that he’d seen such a spectacle before (perhaps somewhere in those records), Iskandar couldn’t quell the feeling of awe booming in his gut. Neither foe nor friend had unleashed such a demonstration of power and destruction in his presence before. It should have made his blood boil with the thrill of beholding such raw power, should have made him grin and declare a challenge, made him dare the King of Heroes to come at him with everything.

Yet all that excitement and delight he felt was cut with an undercurrent of agitation and unease that came with visions of the world crumbling away…

“As promised, you left no room left for doubt. You’ve certainly proven yourself a formidable ally, King of Heroes.” Iskandar replied with a good natured smile. There was no reason for him to be so unnerved by the other man. Ruthless and cunning as he was, he’d sworn allegiance to Chaldea, even in some sort of roundabout way. He had no reason to worry… A slight groan from somewhere off to the side drew their attention to where Ritsuka and Mash stood. Mash had collapsed, leaning on her shield while Ritsuka was gazing at the King of Heroes, her eyes clouded over with tears and her mouth open in an awestruck grin that grew wider as she gave another whimper. “It seems our Master thinks so as well.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

They returned to Chaldea shortly afterwards, no skeletons, no shadows, no further battles. Once Ritsuka had ceased her gushing and acclimation of Gilgamesh’s Enuma Elish that Iskandar pulled him towards the Cafeteria for a round of drinks. It was tradition to drink after claiming victory and it was one he’d hoped to revive in this second life. Luckily for him, it seemed most other Servants summoned had the same idea (save for the Strategist. He’d refused every time Iskandar had invited him). Even more lucky was the fact that the Archer allowed himself to be dragged along with little more than a grumble.

“I fail to see why you dragged me here, King of Conquerors…” He sank into the chair opposite Iskandar with his arms folded and a displeased scowl across his face. Iskandar fell into the other seat with an answering grin and a bottle of wine procured from the Kitchen.

“I simply wish to drink to our victory in battle!” Across from him, Gilgamesh simply rolled his eyes as though displeased.

“I could hardly call that chore a proper battle and I doubt any drink you procure will be to my tastes.” There was a brief and familiar moment where the King of Heroes reached into his treasury that made Iskandar tense slightly, only to relax once the Archer pulled out a golden bottle along with two matching goblets. “However… If you truly wish to sample spirits of truly excellent quality, you may look no further than the wine of the Gods themselves.” Said wine of the gods was poured into the cups and Gilgamesh passed one across the table to Iskandar with a smug grin. Even as he took the cup, Iskandar couldn’t prevent his lips from turning upwards in anticipation. If this was as good as he remembered…

He took a deep swig and groaned in appreciation as the warmth and vibrant flavor of the wine spread through his body. It wasn’t as good as he remembered; It was even better.

“Words cannot do it justice…” He drained the remnants of his goblet, holding it out to be filled once more. The Archer obliged as his smirk morphed into something that actually resembled a genuine smile. He drained the cup yet again, pausing as a mop of dark hair at the entrance of the Cafeteria caught his eye. “You should join us, Strategist!” He bellowed with a wide smile and the hope that the other man would accept his invitation for once. For a moment, it seemed as though he would. The Strategist took a step forward, lips curling up slightly, before something to Iskandar’s left caught his eye and he froze. And with an awkward wave and a shake of his head, the Strategist turned and strode out of sight. “Seems as though that man wishes to work himself to a second death…” Iskandar grumbled into his cup as his mood sank. Surely he could have joined them for a toast. With a sigh, Gilgamesh shook his head and took a sip of wine.

“You may have me to blame for his refusal.” Iskandar’s head whipped up towards the King of Heroes at the admission. “It seems your “Strategist” has a personal grudge against me.” He took another drink and Iskandar watched him carefully.

 _I can’t say I blame him…_ He gave a shrug and a shake of his head at the thought before answering Gilgamesh’s statement. “Surely his foul mood will pass. Us Servants in Chaldea are working towards the same goal after all.”

“I doubt that will placate him anytime soon.” The Archer replied before taking another sip of his wine. “That Mongrel who dares call herself my Master told me something interesting the other day.” He snickered, trying and failing to keep a straight face at whatever he’d heard and Iskandar found himself leaning forward, not even bothering to mask his interest. “Apparently, your Strategist refuses to cooperate with me because he actually believes I killed someone he was close to in his previous life!” The snicker turned into a laugh and the King of Heroes leaned back in his chair as his shoulders shook.

“Well did you?” Gilgamesh went silent at once and he gave Iskandar a look of wild disbelief.

“How would such a thing be possible? I’ve never met anyone named “Zhuge Liang” or “Lord El-Melloi” before in my entire life.” He paused and drained his goblet furiously, almost as though he was insulted by the accusation. “Not only that, but he and I are from entirely different eras.” Iskandar paused, cup halfway to his lips. It was a rather interesting conundrum. He wouldn’t put it past Gilgamesh to annihilate someone for merely looking upon him without permission. Yet the Archer brought up an excellent point; he and the Strategist _did_ come from different eras.

“Even so, if he believes you killed his friend, I can understand why he’s furious...” As he drank, a possibility came to him. “Perhaps you simply bear a striking resemblance to the murderer and thus the Strategist has turned his anger towards you.” Gilgamesh rolled his eyes and swirled the wine around his goblet.

“Perhaps... Even so, you would think I had murdered _him_ instead of a friend the way he’s carrying on.”

“I’m sure he will come around eventually. Grudges don’t usually last long in Chaldea.” Iskandar grumbled and went to take a swig, only to realize his cup was empty. He held it out and Gilgamesh obliged. How many goblets had he consumed now? Three? Four? It mattered little to Iskandar; he was sure that he’d drank more the last time. He gave a hearty laugh and gestured to his chest, sloshing wine over the table. “Take me for example. You killed me previously, and yet I still drink at the same table as you now!” He chuckled once again and glanced at Gilgamesh over the rim of his cup. The King of Heroes was staring at him with an expression made up of confusion, curiosity, and indignation. No doubt about it, he was definitely insulted. “What’s with that look?”

“I believe your Strategist’s madness may be contagious…” Iskandar blinked, confused himself. Mad? What would give him that idea? He didn’t get a chance to ask before Gilgamesh elaborated. “Tell me King of Conquerors, what century were you born into?”

“Going by Modern Records, 356 BC.” Gilgamesh paused, nodding and draining his goblet before continuing.

“Now, my legend dates back to the year 2655 BC, according to those “modern records” as you say.” Iskandar nodded once more. “Now, do you see the problem?” What problem was the King of Heroes referring to? They’d met, they’d battled, he’d been killed. He was sure of it. He couldn’t really see any sort of problem except-

Oh.

Except he’d fallen into the same hole the Strategist had…

“If our legends are centuries apart-”

“-then it is impossible for us to have met, let alone done battle.” Gilgamesh gave a satisfied nod as he finished Iskandar’s conclusion for him. He was right on both counts. Even as a demigod, the King of Heroes was anything but deathless. Hadn’t that been the ending to his tale? Failing to acquire immortality and returning to his kingdom a humbled man? That sounded about right. And yet, as he drank his wine sheepishly, Iskandar couldn’t quite let the issue go. They’d met somewhere before, drank together, battled against one another at some point in history; he was sure of it. Where had that been? A city with a comfortable room, a city with a garden surrounded by stone walls, a place with a great red bridge over a vast river. What had it been called? What was the name of that city?

...

“...Fuyuki…” Iskandar murmured. Gilgamesh sputtered and nearly sprayed wine across the table. Obviously he had not expected an actual response or rebuttal.

“Excuse me?” Iskandar looked up, meeting the King of Heroes with an ecstatic grin. Yes, it was all coming back to him now. How could he ever have forgotten Fuyuki City?

“We met and fought in a place called Fuyuki City. Several times as a matter of fact.”

“Several times?” With a vigorous nod, Iskandar thought back to their encounters.

“There was that time on the Red Bridge. You decimated my armies and ran me through with your blade!” He gave a hearty guffaw and reached across the table to give the dazed Gilgamesh a pat on his armored shoulder. “Before that, we conferenced at a castle with this wine, and even before that there was-” The field of boxes by a river, the other Servants, shifting and changing allegiances at a moment's notice…

And a voice, cold and snide raising insults from somewhere in the shadows. They hadn’t been directed at Iskandar however. Instead, the target had been-

_”Only a man brave enough to ride into battle at my side could ever be my Master!_

The coward’s name had been-

_”Boy, you’re saying you know that man?”_

Yes, the boy had said his name was-

_...Lord Kayneth El-Melloi Archibald..._

_El-Melloi?_

Without any warning, Iskandar slammed his goblet onto the table and stood. He vaguely noticed several nearby Servants jump at the sudden noise, but he paid them no mind. Instead, he gave the King of Heroes a quick “If you’ll excuse me...” and strode quickly out of the cafeteria. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he saw the other Servants turn to each other and whisper about what could have possibly set him off, heard Gilgamesh raise his voice in protest, claiming that he hadn’t been dismissed yet. He paid them no mind. They weren’t important at the moment.

Now, he had to find the Strategist…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another strange dynamic between two characters I love is characters who would be great drinking buddies if they weren't in a situation where they have to kill each other. Hopefully I managed to get that across between Gilgamesh and Iskandar in this chapter. Anyway, special thanks go out to Saleej and TetsumiMae for their comments on the last chapter! Shoutouts to wavtail, Japanesepengi, WordForEveryStar, Infiltrator, and every guest who left Kudos as well! Thanks for reading and I'll see you in the next chapter!


	11. The Teacher

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Strategist manages to clear up some misconceptions regarding his identity.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And the plot thickens further. If you aren't overcome by the urge to grab these two by the shoulders and just yell at them for being idiots, I applaud you! This one's rather short, but to make up for it, I've got a long one lined up for posting tomorrow. After Chapter 12 though, I'm going to take a bit of a break, one because I want to focus on finishing some other projects for other fandoms and two, because I haven't written past chapter 12 yet. I should be back to a regular update schedule on this by late November or early December, depending on how much works saps my will to live... As usual, thanks for reading and I hope you enjoy the chapter!

Lord El-Melloi had been in a rather fair mood until he’d walked into the Cafeteria to find Iskandar drinking with Gilgamesh of all people as though they were bosom friends. He should not feel any sort of jealousy, Iskandar could associate with whoever he damn well pleased. Even so, the fact that he got along better with the man who had _murdered_ him than a loyal vassal… Well something about the whole thing was just downright off putting and El-Melloi wanted no part of it…

True, neither King of Conquerors nor Heroes actually remembered the whole affair, but still…

The Caster had taken to simply wandering the halls, looking for something to occupy himself now that a meal was no longer an option. He did not expect to find several pounds of red cape and muscle barreling towards him so shortly after he’d left. Iskandar had been drinking rather merrily in the company of _that_ Archer and seemed content to remain there for the rest of the evening. And yet, there he was now, approaching El-Melloi with a typical wave and a wide smile.

“There you are, Strategist! I’ve been searching for you!” There is nothing to suggest displeasure in that smile, no hidden disappointment or disdain, but El-Melloi still could not halt the feeling of guilt that crept into his stomach.

“Of course… I apologize for not joining you, earlier, I just-” He got no further before Iskandar cut him off with a slap to his back and a booming laugh.

“There’s no need to apologize. I’ve heard about your intense dislike for the King of Heroes already!”

_He has?_

“You have?” It seemed that he would need to have a very thorough discussion with Ritsuka about privacy and things that were not meant to be shared with others willy-nilly in the near future. Iskandar nodded, a grin remaining on his face.

“Yes. But more importantly, I’ve discerned why I felt so much loathing for you upon our first meeting!”

_He has..._

“You have…” El-Melloi groaned and tried to ignore the way Iskandar sounded oddly cheerful about the fact. Iskandar nodded once again before launching into an explanation.

“During one of my conquests later in life, I and one of my retainers ran afoul of a man bearing the title “Lord El-Melloi.”” He paused as his face turned solemn seemingly out of nowhere. “I never met that man face to face in battle, but during our brief encounter, he did little more than sling insults and threats from the shadows and did not set one foot on the front lines. Needless to say, he struck me as a rather cowardly man with little to no redeeming qualities. When you were introduced to me as “Lord El-Melloi,” I must have remembered that impression from then. Hence, my disdain for you!” Iskandar ended the explanation with a wide smile, evidently proud of himself for coming to such an obvious conclusion. Meanwhile, El-Melloi’s mind was simply spinning, trying to process the abundance of information Iskandar had just dumped on his shoulders.

“That’s-” _That’s the most…_ “You think that-” _He thinks that…_ As Iskandar’s deduction became clearer to him, as he managed to piece together just _who_ he’d been mistaken for, El-Melloi found his shoulders shaking, quivering uncontrollably at the sheer absurdity of it. “You…” And without any warning, a slew of laughter burst from his lungs.

“You _fucking_ idiot!” His guffaws continued as he doubled over, hand leaning on the other Servant’s arm for support. Iskandar looked on in the meantime, his smile morphing from proud to confused as he simply watched the other man apparently lose his mind. Eventually, El-Melloi managed to get himself under control enough to take several deep breaths without dissolving into hysterics. “You have me confused with my teacher.” The statement seemed to be enough to wipe the smile completely from Iskandar’s face and he raised an eyebrow.

“Your teacher?” El-Melloi nodded, still grinning, but at least he didn’t fly into convulsions this time.

“Yes. I took his family name after-” El-Melloi cut himself off with a slight cough as his smile became just a little more strained. What the hell was he thinking, bringing that up? No, there was no need to divulge his entire life story right here and now. Besides, at this point, he’d just be oversharing. “In any case, I wound up being taken into his family sometime later. I’m Lord El-Melloi _the second…_ ” El-Melloi finished pinching the bridge of his nose as though he’d been suddenly struck with a headache. Maybe, if the people of Chaldea could take a hint and include “the second” in his name whenever they spoke to him…

“You’re the second…” Iskandar mumbled, eyes roaming over the Caster once, then twice. Then a smile broke over his face once more. It was a different kind of smile this time; warmer, almost as though he was relieved, spread across his face. “That is a relief, Strategist.” The King slapped El-Melloi on the back once more before slinging an arm around his shoulder. “I was unsure if I could continue to call a coward and a knave my friend!” El-Melloi winced as he found himself caught up the feeling of several vertebrae fracturing from the impact. Even so, there was no way he could stop himself from beaming at the remark.

_Friend he says…_ It was worth, everything; coming to Chaldea, contracting with Ritsuka, spending a literal lifetime questioning and fighting to prove his own worth, It was worth everything to finally hear those words, that confirmation, that Iskandar considered him a friend, even with how he’d been mistaken for…

_Wait…_

When he’d been mistaken for…

_Wait, that’s-_

And Lord El-Melloi II stalled in the middle of the hallway as a slow sense of dread crept over his skin.

“Iskandar…” His eyes remained fixed on the floor, but the Caster could hear the other man’s feet stop and turn around. “Iskandar, tell me the name of the man you were just talking about.” Iskandar paused as the sound of a thoughtful hum filled the hallway.

“Your teacher? Kayenth El-Melloi, if I remember correctly…” El-Melloi swallowed again as his anxiety solidified in his stomach and he could feel sweat begin to bead on his brow.

_He remembers Professor Kayneth…_ It could mean nothing. It could just be a coincidence. The El-Melloi family had been rather old, right? Perhaps Iskandar had been referring to one of their ancestors. It didn’t outright mean that he remembered- “And, where did you encounter him?” Iskandar hummed again.

“Some place called Fuyuki, in a field of boxes by a river.”

_He remembers Professor Kayneth and he remembers Fuyuki…_

“Looked to be some kind of port I believe. Now that I think about it, that green Lancer, Diarmuid, he was there as well and- Are you feeling well, Strategist?” El-Melloi paid the question no mind on account that he’d become something of a nervous, trembling mess in the middle of the hallway with only one thought repeating over and over in his mind.

_He remembers Professor Kayneth and he remembers Fuyuki and why the **hell** does he remember anything about Professor Kayneth and Fuyuki?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I mentioned it before and that it's been confirmed several times throughout the fic, but this is set in a sort of alternate continuity where Servants don't remember their past summons. The thing that's happening to Iskandar is an exception rather than the rule, hence why El-Melloi is so disturbed at the end. Weird, I know, but there's a good reason I'm working with that setup. Is it for potential angst and pining development? You betcha. Anyway, shout outs go to Lintella, vicspeaks, TheSerperiorOne, Grace, and Saalej for their comments on the last chapter (extra shout out to Saalej for putting up with my likely inaccurate Spanish translations and Grace for some impromptu proofreading that I didn't catch before posting...) Thanks also go out to EpicJay, narukamis and any and all guests who left comments as well! As always, thanks for reading and I'll see you in the next chapter!


	12. The Branches

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Iskandar is examined and El-Melloi goes looking for answers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 8 Pages this time to make up for the short chapter last time, 2 perspectives, whole lotta angst. Let's do this! Just wanted to let y'all know again that I"m going to be taking a short break to focus on some other projects that I want to finish. I should be able to start this back up by November/December. Also, the perspective shifts somewhere in the middle of this chapter, but it should be pretty easy to see when it happens. Thanks for sticking with this fic and I hope you enjoy the next chapter!

“Alright, now look up…” A bright light shone in Iskandar’s eyes for several seconds before it faded abruptly and the scratching sound of Romani Archamann writing something down rose. “How many fingers?” Iskandar blinked, squinted, cleared his vision enough to make out the doctor in front of him holding up several digits. He vaguely remembered being examined by physicians back during the height of his power, but he couldn’t recall anything like this. It seemed Medicine was something else that had changed greatly in the modern era.

“Three.” More scratching ensued and Iskandar’s vision cleared enough for him to see Romani glance over his shoulder towards where DaVinci sat, scanning some sort of data on one of those “Terminal” things.

“Anything on your end DaVinci?” She shook her head before replying.

“Nothing out of the ordinary.” Romani nodded and turned back to address Iskandar.

“Well, I don’t know what you want us to say. You’re healthy as a horse. Probably healthier.”

“I thought so…” He murmured. DaVinci pushed her chair out from behind the Terminal, leaning forward and eyeing at him curiously.

“Then what brought you here?”

“A very insistent Strategist…” He grumbled, remembering the state the Caster had been in after their talk in the hallway. He’d frozen for several seconds, face painted by what looked to be terror before grabbing Iskandar by the wrist and dragging him towards the Infirmary with a surprising amount of strength. The King had insisted that he was fine and the Strategist had insisted right back that something was likely terribly wrong and that he should be examined immediately. And that was how he’d found himself sitting in the Infirmary being poked and prodded for what had to be several hours wondering exactly _how_ the King of Conquerors had been mother-henned into visiting the Physician while the Strategist went off to do who knew what.

Perhaps it was for the best in the end. Experience told him that a man’s health was not meant to be taken lightly. Truly it would be rather humiliating to die of a wasting disease twice. Besides, something told him the Strategist would not be satisfied until Iskandar had been examined. Might as well get the whole thing over with. In the meantime, DaVinci’s curious expression remained on her face.

“And what’s he worried about?” She asked and Iskandar actually paused. What _had_ the Caster been worried about? They’d been talking, he’d told the man about Fuyuki and the man called “El-Melloi” and how he’d mistaken the Strategist, mistaken El-Melloi II, for him. Perhaps that had been what set the Caster off, what had sent him into a rambling spiel about visiting the Physician, about how there was something wrong with him… About…

“He mentioned something about my memories.” Iskandar replied. “That I’m recalling things I shouldn’t.” DaVinci and Roman shared a brief look before turning back to him.

“And what _do_ you remember?” Romani asked and Iskandar closed his eyes. Where to even begin? He doubted they were concerned about him remembering his first life. No, the only thing that would cause them worry were things that did not fit, things that were irregular in some way. Mention of Fuyuki and Kayneth El-Melloi had caused the Strategist alarm, and even the King of Heroes had been thrown when he’d mentioned their encounters. So he told DaVinci and the Physician everything he could recall about the place called Fuyuki; of the Port, his first impression of Kayneth El-Melloi and of the other Servants. He told them of the Cavern, of the unspeakable things he and his Master had found there, of the battle on the river and the battle on the bridge and of the Master who’s name and face he still could not recall. He told them as much as he could and at the end of it all their curiosity had given way to concerned silence.

“Fuyuki you say?” DaVinci was the first to break the quiet, leaning forward slightly.

“Yes.”

“And you say that Gilgamesh, Diarmuid and a lot of other Servants were there as well?” Romani this time.

“Yes…” Iskandar sighed impatiently. He’d told them already, hadn’t he? They leaned back and shared another look before the Physician spoke once again.

“Out of curiosity, who were the other Servants you fought?” Another sigh.

“Obviously, I told you of the King of Heroes and Lancer.” He grumbled. The memory of Gilgamesh and Diarmuid was fairly clear, but everything else seemed almost hazy. The entire time, he’d believed such recollections to be normal, to be part of his first life. It was somewhat difficult to tell what others would consider “irregular.” The King of Heroes, the Green Lancer… “I believe that hooded Assassin was there as well…”

“Hundred Personas?” DaVinci asked and he nodded.

“Yes, them.”

“Was that all?” Iskandar hummed, thinking over the question. Who else had there been? Hassan, Diarmuid, the King of Heroes…

Hadn’t there been another King as well?

“No, I can recall encountering the King of Knights several times as well.” He replied, the image of a golden-haired King clad in blue returning to him. And speaking of Knights… “There was also a Berserker in black armor… We never did find out who he was…” Yes, that was right. King of Knights, Berserker, King of Heroes… It seemed he was still missing one more player. Something about the Cavern, something about collecting river water to find- “Ah, there was a Caster as well.” He finished, vaguely unsettled at the twin looks of discomfort on DaVinci and Romani’s faces.

“Hold on a minute!” The Physician cried out, causing both Iskandar and the Inventor to jump about a foot in the air. “Hold on- You’re telling me that you were summoned to a place called Fuyuki along with a Saber, a Lancer, an Archer…” He counted off each class on his fingers, “an Assassin, a Berserker _and_ a Caster?” Iskandar nodded.

“Yes.” That sounded about right. DaVinci looked between him and Romani.

“And you’re a Rider, so that sounds exactly like-” She paused, switching gears to ask him yet another question. “Iskandar, were all of you summoned by one Master, like Ritsuka and Chaldea?” He huffed and folded his arms.

“Well of course not. It was a fairly standard Grail War after all.” It was strange really, to realize that his words were true only after he’d spoken them aloud. It made sense to him though. Seven Servants summoned to battle each other for the wish granting vessel known as the Holy Grail. That seemed to match what he remembered. Romani on the other hand seemed to find something wrong with his statement. He sputtered and stuttered over half-formed words for several moments before speaking once more.

“That’s impossible! The only Grail War we have any records on is the 2004 First Fuyuki Holy Grail War and there’s no _way_ you’d be remembering that one.”

“What makes you so certain, Physician?”

“Well- I mean-” The Physician babbled once more, struggling to find his words. “I mean, we’ve got records right? And nowhere in any of them does it mention Iskandar of Macedonia being summoned as a Servant. I’m starting to see why Lord El-Melloi was so concerned…”

“The second.”

“Hmm?” Iskandar sighed, he hadn’t even realized he’d interjected to correct the other man. Still, he'd mistaken the man for his predecessor once before and he'd rather avoid making the same mistake in the future.

“He’s the second. And why are you so alarmed, Physician?”

“Because nothing about this makes sense!” Romani yelled once again. “Even if you were summoned in a previous Grail War, you wouldn’t be able to recall anything about it. I mean, Heroic Spirits aren’t even directly summoned, Servants are just copies of past Heroes recorded by the Throne of Heroes. When they disperse and return, those memories don’t carry over to the next copy summoned, you should know that!” The words froze Iskandar to the spot. That was true, wasn’t it? He’d known that memories were never retained across summonings. The other Servants of Chaldea did not recall previous masters, so it was only natural that he would not remember. Of course he’d known that to be true, but he’d put the idea so far out of his mind that he’d nearly forgotten about it completely. If Servants were not meant to have any recollection, if _he_ was not meant to have any recollection, then…

Taking advantage of Iskandar’s stunned silence, Doctor Roman continued.

“Besides, even if you were somehow remembering a previous Grail War, that doesn’t change the fact that you were never summoned for the First Fuyuki Grail War. You aren’t just remembering things you shouldn’t remember, you’re also remembering something that didn’t even happen.”

“And that is where I have to disagree with Romani.” DaVinci cut in, giving the Physician a pat on the shoulder before turning to Iskandar. “Just because you weren’t summoned in the First Fuyuki Grail War doesn’t mean you were never summoned in _any_ Grail War.”

“And what do you mean by that, Caster?”

“Branch Theory.” She spoke as though her words were supposed to be some kind of great revelation, as though they were meant to reveal and clarify everything. Instead, she was met with the blank stares of the King and the Physician. “You’ve never heard of it?” Roman shook his head.

“I’m a doctor, not a genius.”

“And I have to admit that I have very little knowledge of gardening.” DaVinci lightly slapped a palm to her face and groaned.

“Alright, Iskandar. Before you came here, you had to decide to actually come and get examined, right?” He shrugged.

“I don’t think the Strategist would have left me with much of a choice.”

“Just go along with it.” DaVinci pleaded. “Come get examined or don’t.” She held up two fingers as she spoke. “Now, according to Branch Theory, that decision caused the timeline to split in two. One branch, you came here. One branch you didn’t.” She pointed to each of her fingers. “It goes even further. Say you decided not to come to the Infirmary; you’d be left with other choices.” She moved her other hand above the finger meant to represent the branch that would have formed had he decided to skip the visit. “Library.” She flipped up another finger. “Cafeteria.” And another. “Personal Quarters. Wander the Halls. Each of those offshoots would lead to more decisions and more universes splitting off to the point where there would be an infinite number of them. And that’s just considering one decision on one branch for one person. See what I mean?” Both Iskandar and Roman nodded. Thinking about the idea in-depth sent Iskandar’s head reeling slightly, but he could get the gist of it. Decisions gave rise to alternate paths, branches she’d called them, and alternate branches led to more decisions which led to more branches and so on and so forth.

“I see, and that is fascinating, DaVinci.” He replied, rubbing his chin in thought. “But what does that have to do with me or the Fuyuki Grail War?”

“I’m saying that somewhere along the line, someone made a decision that resulted in a branch, a universe where you were summoned to Fuyuki and you fought in an alternate Grail War.” She replied and folded her arms with a smug smile, her point thoroughly proven. “As I said, just because it didn’t happen in _this_ branch doesn’t mean it never happened at all in any other branches.” Iskandar nodded as he tried to process the sheer abundance of scientific explanation DaVinci had just unloaded. He believed that he was beginning to understand the bigger picture, one of a cluster of branches, one in which he’d participated in a Holy Grail War with the King of Knights and the King of Heroes and the Master he could not fully remember. Even so…

“But why would I remember things from a different path?” The Caster opened her mouth, paused, and apparently realized that she did not have a concrete answer for him.

“Well…” Surprisingly enough, it was the Physician who provided some kind of explanation. “I mean, Chaldea, Rayshifting, heck even Summoning itself kind of pushes the whole fabric of space-time when you think about it…” Roman shrugged. “Maybe something here just sort of jump-started your memory. You did say that a few of the other Servants involved are here in Chaldea…” Iskandar nodded and continued to rub his chin.

“I did…” Yes, it was all coming together now. Alternate Universes, Holy Grail Wars, and yet there was still one question that neither DaVinci nor the Physician had even come close to answering. “So, is there any cause for concern or not?” The two exchanged yet another look.

“Have you been feeling sluggish or unwell as of late?” DaVinci asked and Iskandar shook his head. “And can you still remember everything from your first life? Your actual first life?”

“Everything.”

“Any trouble using your Noble Phantasm?”

“None.”

“In that case…” She smiled warmly. “there shouldn’t be anything to worry about.”

“Are you certain?” As he’d concluded before, health was not something to be taken lightly. The Physician nodded and had even begun to smile as well.

“Neither of us can find anything wrong with your Spirit Origin or your Saint Graph, so you have a clean bill of health. Like I said, you’re probably healthier than a horse!”

“And these memories?”

“It’s like I told you.” DaVinci replied with a shrug and a wave of her hand. “You’re just remembering something you went through in the past. It happens to everyone.” She paused, hummed in thought as something occurred to her. “We should probably keep an eye out for any Irregularities just in case, but if nothing’s popped up so far, then we shouldn’t have any cause to worry!” Her grin resumed and Iskandar turned over everything he’d learned in such a short time.

 _Branches, alternate paths, no cause for concern…_ And with a sigh of relief, Iskandar released the tension in his body that he hadn’t even realized he’d been holding.

“Physician, DaVinci, you have my thanks.” They’d done a few more tests, just to make sure, but eventually he’d been dismissed with a clean bill of health. Now that he knew there were no ill side effects, Iskandar let his mind wander back to Fuyuki, back to the other two Kings, the other Servants, the Red Bridge, the Cavern, the comfortable room and the boy he still could not fully recall…

_You are my King…_

A warm, fond smile made its way onto his face at the memory even as he found himself taken by a deep, almost desperate sense of longing. Who that boy had been? What had become of him after the war? Was he still alive in this era? Was he burning with the rest of humanity? What-

Iskandar shook his head in an effort to clear the troublesome thoughts. When had he become someone who pined after a boy he could barely remember. Truly Chaldea's strangeness had rubbed off on him. He had no reason to dwell on such things, no reason other than he simply wanted to. He wanted to remember whatever he could about Fuyuki, about the Grail War that had not technically happened, about his former Master, his vassal, his friend... He wanted to remember everything. These memories were his, and he would not allow them to slip away again, Rules of the Grail or no. In the meantime, he would have to wait patiently, and look forward to that day he could recall everything with clarity. In the meantime, he would focus on Chaldea, Ritsuka, and their mission to restore humanity. In the meantime, he would look for the Strategist! Surely El-Melloi II would be pleased to hear that there was nothing to worry about after all. With a nod and a grin on his face, Iskandar set off through the halls.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The door to the Records Room slid open and Lord El-Melloi II stormed in looking for all the world like hell was on his heels. Without pausing to look at the room’s other occupant, he strode over to the Terminals, activated one and pulled up the search function. Romani Archamann and DaVinci would be able to keep Iskandar preoccupied so he could begin his own investigation. Servants were not meant to remember anything about past summonings at all. They were merely copies, shadows of true heroes and legends summoned for the singular purpose of fulfilling the wishes of petty masters. He'd known that going into the War and he'd known it coming out. _Memories accumulated by Servants, by copies, are destroyed upon their return to the Throne of Heroes._ He thought while glaring at the screen. _That is an immutable fact and truth of the ritual called the Holy Grail War._ But if Iskandar could remember Professor Kayneth, remember the War and Fuyuki, if he'd retained those memories that should have been destroyed with his death, then there had to be some kind of Irregularity at work in Chaldea. Hopefully he could catch it early on and return things to normal. What to look into first? Where to start?

“What’s got you so bothered?” He gave a start and turned around to meet the Diarmuid’s concerned expression. He sighed, cursing himself for being so unobservant and so easy to read. 

“It’s nothing.” The Lancer nodded slowly, obviously not believing a word El-Melloi had said. Now that he thought about it, Diarmuid had been involved in the Fourth Holy Grail War as well, right? “Actually, Diarmuid?” 

“Hmm?” 

“I do have a question for you. When I say the name “El-Melloi,” does it mean anything to you?” Diarmuid hesitated, looking at the Caster as though he’d thoroughly lost his marbles.  
  
“Well, that’s your name, isn’t it?” El-Melloi shook his head. 

“Not technically. It was my teacher’s first. I took it after he was killed.” The Caster stared hard at the other man. “He was Kayneth El-Melloi Archibald, engaged to Sola-ui Nuada-re Sophia-ri.” He let the names hang in the air, watching like a hawk for a twitch, a flinch, anything that would indicate that either name meant anything to the Lancer. Diarmuid's brow furrowed slightly, but it seemed to have more to do with the length and obscure pronunciation of the names rather than any sort of recognition in regards to either one. 

“I see…” He muttered before giving El-Melloi a sympathetic smile. “Well, if he was your teacher, he was a great man and a great mage.” The Caster gave an irritated sigh as a vein twitching in his forehead. 

“Great mage yes. Great man, not so much…” He murmured, trailing off before glancing back at the other man. “Thank you Diarmuid.” 

“It’s not a problem…” The Lancer replied, giving him another concerned look before going back to his Terminal. Meanwhile, El-Melloi was left to process the rather interesting revelation. 

So Iskandar can remember Professor Kayneth and Fuyuki, but Diarmuid, his own Servant, doesn’t know a thing… It seemed that whatever was going on in Chaldea was isolated to the King of Conquerors. Rolling his shoulders, El-Melloi reached out and tapped several letters on the Terminal. _Holy Grail War…_ That was as good a place as any to start… He scrolled through the results. Most of which were accounts and details about the framework of the ritual, but eventually he found something that looked like a historical account. He opened it up and began to read, absorbing the tale of Marisbury Animusphere ( _I’ve heard that name somewhere before…_ ) and how he’d founded Chaldea using funds acquired through the Holy Grail after winning the First Fuyuki Grail War. 

_The First?_ That… That wasn’t right, was it? There had been five Grail Wars in total, beginning with the Einzbern, the Tohsaka and the Makiri families in the 1790s. Right? Yet the document in front of him seemed to imply that the year 2004 had been the first time the ritual had taken place at all. Frowning, El-Melloi returned to the main page, typing out a new term. _Fourth Fuyuki Grail War…_ The results were mostly the same, ritual framework and the historical account of Marisbury’s Grail War. Nothing about Angra Mainyu or All The World’s Evils, nothing about Iskandar, nothing that matched his own recollection of the battles that took place in Fuyuki. If the Fourth Holy Grail War never took place, if the only ritual had been the one that Animusphere had taken part in, then… 

_It seems I’m further from home than I initially thought…_ El-Melloi mused as he leaned his elbows on the desk and his head sank into his hands. Alternate timelines. That was the only plausible explanation for what was going on here. Somehow, he’d merged with Zhuge Liang, been summoned across timelines, across universes to this unfamiliar world to Chaldea. That could only mean… _The Fourth Holy Grail War never took place in this timeline… That could explain several things._ For instance, the fact that Lancer had no memory, not even a lingering one of Kayneth El-Melloi Archibald. _This Diarmuid Ua Duibhne isn’t the same Lancer I met back then. Gilles isn’t the same Gilles and Iskandar is-_

A droplet of water fell onto his glasses. And another. And another. Strange… Where were those coming from? Was there a leak in one of the pipes? He straightened and removed his glasses.  
  
“Are you alright?” Ah, he’d almost forgotten Diarmuid was in here with him.

“Perfectly fine.” 

“You’re crying…” El-Melloi blinked in surprise, a hand coming up to brush underneath his eyes. The Lancer appeared to be right... 

“I’ve been staring at the Terminals for too long, that’s all.” He replied, scrubbing his eyes forcing a smile onto his face. It wasn’t working. There was no way Diarmuid was buying this. “Excuse me.” Ignoring the Diarmuid’s look of concern, El-Melloi stood abruptly and left the Records Room before any more tears could escape. 

His shoes clicked loudly throughout the empty halls as El-Melloi powered forward. He had no idea where he was even going, what he wanted to do, what his initial goal had been when he'd entered the Records Room. Look for Irregularites in the delicate fabric of reality surrounding Chaldea? Try to find a reason for Iskandar's recollections? Had he managed to find something before leaving? He couldn't quite remember, couldn't think straight through the single truth resonating through his entire being. Dammit there was no reason for him to lose his head, no reason at all to be so distressed. 

_This isn’t a surprise._ El-Melloi berated himself as his steps quickened, as his shoulders hunched, his brow furrowed, his fists clenched by his sides. This hadn’t a surprise. He'd known this was meant to be the case. That even if Iskandar saw him again, fought by his side again, by some miracle of fate saw him as his equal and a friend once again... 

_It was always too good to be true. You should have seen that coming from the moment he was summoned. From the moment **you** were summoned. You’re in a different time and different place and the Servants here are different than the ones you met and he's-_

For all the differences between his timeline and this one, it appeared that the universe still had a sick sense of humor. He froze at the sight of Iskandar down the hall, speaking hurriedly with Fergus before looking up and noticing El-Melloi. He grinned, wide, warm and familiar before waving the Caster over to join him, beckoning him to his side. 

And the revelation fully washed over him. 

_He’s not my Rider…_

El-Melloi turned. He didn’t want to see him, didn’t want to see the look of disappointment and hurt on his King-no, not his-on _the_ King’s face as El-Melloi turned his back on him and strode the other way. He didn’t want to see, didn’t want to see, didn’t want- 

It seemed fortune was on his side as he made it back to his quarters without running into anyone, was able to close the door before he sank to the ground, knees drawn to his chest, head buried in his arms and great, wracking breaths heaving in and out of his lungs. He wouldn’t cry, he wasn’t going to cry… Even as he tried to deny them, tears kept pouring out of his eyes and desperate sobs began to wrack his frame. He should have grown out of this by now. He was a Lord of the Clocktower, Professor of Magecraft, fine, he was even Professor Charisma apparently. He was better than this. He’d grown out of that pathetic wretch that had done nothing but sob into the pavement at the conclusion of a War that hadn’t even taken place according to all known records. 

He needed to be better, be stronger. He needed to focus on why a Servant retained memories that should not exist for them, needed to look for any signs of a budding Singularity or Irregularity that could possibly be the cause, needed to consider how such a thing could be fixed because it was a goddamn law of the universe that the King of Conquerors would never remember anything about a pathetic vassal such as himself, needed to remember that he’d been graced with an entire fucking lifetime to come to terms with the fact that he would never truly see his Rider ever again, that the dream of the King of Conquerors would never see fruition. He should be better than this… 

“And yet here I am, crying over you…” Lord El-Melloi II murmured, hugging his knees tighter and allowing himself a rueful, scorn-filled smile. “I haven’t changed at all, have I?” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Of all things I thought I would end up writing about in this fic, I never thought one of them would be Branch Theory... I originally had this as two separate chapters, but I thought it would be a bit more effective to have El-Melloi's realization come right after Iskandar's resolve to remember Fuyuki with practically no break. Anyway, Special Thanks go out to Lintella, TheSerperiorOne, and eph1027 for their comments on the last chapter! Thanks also go out to Woola, luvielle, Eos70, and any and all guests who left Kudos as well! Thanks for reading and I'll see you in the next chapter!


	13. The Monsters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Iskandar and Lord El-Melloi II manage to have a brief talk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I said late November/early December on Chapter 12... I wanted to finish Paper Moon before continuing this. Now that it's finished, Merry Christmas, Happy New Year and welcome 2021! Here's some more angst for you! Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoy the chapter!

_”You must think I’m soft or something…”_

_He’d almost missed the question. Even though there had been no others in the room with them, the statement had been so quiet and hushed that the King of Conquerors had thought the boy had been talking to himself. He’d been tempted to pretend as such. The earlier battle had been long, exhausting, and his use of his Reality Marble had, admittedly, left him drained. Upon returning to the Mackenzie Dwelling, all Iskandar had wanted to do was sleep and to make some futile attempt not to tarry over the memory of tentacled beasts, underground caverns and blood, bone and viscera illuminated by flickering green light…_

_“We are at war, boy. Did you expect there would be no casualties?” It was a conversation he would have rather avoided, but it was better than letting either of them remain preoccupied with such thoughts. After several seconds with no reply, the King of Conquerors had thought that his Master was taking a moment to carefully consider his next words. After what felt like a minute, he’d begun to think that either his question went unheard or the boy had no intention of answering at all._

_“It’s not like… I mean, I knew _what_ I was getting into…” He’d doubted it. “To win the Holy Grail, people would have to die. I mean, crack a few eggs to get an omelette, right?” The analogy had not been familiar to Iskandar, but it got the proper idea across. Sacrifices were necessary to reap rewards, especially when it came to warfare._

_“But back there, in the sewers, that wasn’t sacrifice.” The boy continued, voice hardening and when Iskandar turned to glance over his shoulder, the boy had curled in on himself, fists clenched around his knees, knuckles almost white. “That had nothing to do with the War at all. They weren’t doing that to show off their power or gain mana or to send any kind of message, it…” The arms around his knees had tightened even further. “It was just pointless. They didn’t- Those kids shouldn’t have had to…” He’d trailed off and Iskandar had wondered if the scene in Caster’s lair was playing over again in front of his eyes. He had not blamed his master in the slightest. The sight of so many young lives cut short in such a violent and ignoble way had caused his own heart to clench with an odd combination of rage and sorrow. He’d said as much back then; only a monster could look upon such a scene and remain unmoved. Even so…_

_“Boy,” He’d turned and leaned his forearms on the bed. The boy did not raise his head, did not look at Iskandar. But the way he’d instinctually bristled at the title proved that Iskandar had been heard. “I do not mean to disparage you with this question. You’ve already proven yourself a worthy master and there are not many who would willingly ride into the heat of battle by my side after the first time.” It was the truth, no matter how many times the boy had insisted otherwise. And after their latest victory against Caster on the river, Iskandar had wondered why he’d even considered the boy feeble or weak to begin with. No, his Master may not be soft, and yet… “Not all men are suited for the brutality and ugliness that precedes the glory of war. There is no shame in such a life.” No response and Iskandar had leaned in closer. “Boy, are you certain you are capable of seeing this through to the end? Are you certain you can bring yourself to harm another for the sake of your own desires?”_

_What had felt like several minutes had passed before Iskandar had gotten his answer. Had it not been for the way the boy’s hands were still clenched over his knees, Iskandar would have thought he’d fallen asleep until-_

_“...Chickens…”_

_“Hoh?” Iskandar had blinked and tilted his head, somewhat caught off-guard by the response._

_“I… I had to kill three chickens to summon you in the first place, so…” The confession had been grumbled into the boy’s knees and despite himself, Iskandar hadn’t been able to keep a sly grin off of his face._

_“And did you find joy in the act?” He’d asked, climbing fully onto the bed, causing the mattress to dip and the boy to fall against him. He’d still been curled, had still refused to look up, but his hands unclenched and the warm weight against Iskandar’s arm was relaxed._

_“Not really…” Came the mutter. “It was actually kind of terrible… But there was a point to it, you know? It’s not like I was killing them for no reason.” Iskandar had hummed, rubbing his chin as a thought occurred to him._

_“I wonder if that made a difference to the chickens themselves.” He’d murmured. The boy finally picked his head up, finally fixed Iskandar with a familiar glare, mouth slanted into a sullen frown while his eyebrows had furrowed. Iskandar couldn’t remember anything about what the boy looked like, how his features were arranged, the shape of his face, the color of his eyes, nothing. He might as well be looking at a smooth, featureless lump of clay. But he could remember that scowl, how the boy had always seemed to glare at him and how he’d always answered with a grin._

_“Would you have preferred a virgin sacrifice?” The boy had grumbled, still glaring and Iskandar had laughed at that one. Chickens were sufficient and he’d told the boy as such. “Besides, are you really comparing the lives of human beings to the lives of chickens?”_

_“I suppose I am in a way. A chicken values its own survival just as much as humans value theirs.” The boy had given an exasperated sigh and rolled his eyes at that._

_“That’s… That’s actually a fair point…” He’d conceded, grumbling into his knees. “How the hell did we wind up talking about chickens anyway?”_

_“You’re the one who brought them up, boy.”_

_“Right…” Another concession. Iskandar had smiled, satisfied at his victory as he reached over to rest a hand on the boy’s head._

_“Valuing the lives of others is not a sign of a weak heart.” His fingers began to comb through hair ( _It had been black. Soft to the touch, black and short. Don’t forget that again, don’t-_ ) “To win without killing, to conquer without humiliating…” The familiar creed had echoed through the room and caused Iskandar’s heartbeat to pick up ever so slightly. “If one was unable to value the lives of their comrades or their enemies, if one actively chose not to see the value in others, that would make them the worst sort of tyrant imaginable.” He’d finished with a decisive nod of his head and turned to where his master was still leaning against his arm. He’d been greeted with neither a smile of agreement nor the familiar scowl. Instead, the boy had looked at him with an expression Iskandar couldn’t quite place; perturbed and quietly bitter. Whatever that look meant, it was clear that the boy had not believed Iskandar in the slightest._

_“I see what you’re saying, but…” He’d trailed off, as though reluctant to elaborate. Iskandar merely hummed and waited for the boy to garner the necessary nerve. It almost seemed as though he’d waited for minutes before the boy finally continued. “But you don’t exactly conquer almost half of Eastern Europe without killing and humiliating a lot of people…” Iskandar had exhaled a heavy breath. It had been a fair point and, for a brief moment, the King recalled the boy’s own analogy regarding eggs and omelettes._

_“No. You don’t. I suppose it’s like your chickens, boy. Sacrifices are indeed necessary on the path to conquest. At times, many. But a true King is one who values those who fight by his side, respects the enemies who oppose him, and treats both with dignity.”_

_“Then what about Persepolis?” Easily explained._

_“Vengeance for Athens.”_

_“And Thebes?” Irritation had caused Iskandar to roll his eyes at the incessant line queries. Was the boy really going to question every single one of his actions from his first life?  
“I had every intention of sparing the city, and had they any sense, they would have surrendered at first opportunity.” He’d replied._

_“Then what about Parmenion?” All at once, Iskandar’s entire body had gone tense, as though preparing to go on the defensive. He shot a glance down to where the boy was sitting, still resting his chin on his knees, still leaning into the King’s side, still gazing at the wall directly across from the bed. Of all the things he could have brought up-_

_“How do you know of Parmenion?” The question had left his mouth before he could stop it._

_“I did my research before I summoned you.” The boy had answered and though Iskandar had not been able to see his face, he’d been able to imagine his Master rolling his eyes at the question. “Wouldn’t you say it’s a wise choice to know what kind of Servant I summoned into this world?” So that was it. Iskandar had huffed an almost annoyed sigh before replying._

_“And had you done your research thoroughly, you would know that he and Philotas had conspired to have me assassinated.” Allegedly. “What would you have done? Let them live to continue plotting against you?”_

_“And Cleitus?”_

_For all his years, all he’d accomplished and conquered, Iskandar could have never been prepared to hear that name come out of the boy’s mouth. Of all the things for his master to pick up on, of all the things he could have used against Iskandar, he’d gone with Cleitus. His mind had tossed and roiled as Iskandar had tried to find some kind of response to the boy’s attack. He’d been drunk, Cleiuts had insulted him. He’d been plotting a rebellion. Every rationale he could have offered, every defense he could have used to justify his actions, all of them had fallen flat before he could even give a voice to them. All of them failed to explain the full truth of what had happened between himself and Cleitus._

_It was not something Iskandar had been particularly proud of, neither in the moment it had happened nor remembering it on the bed in the comfortable room. And yet, what else could he have told his Master? What else could have been the truth other than he’d killed several of his own men who had shown him nothing but loyalty? The boy had continued, paying no mind to whatever answer Iskandar might have given him._

_“And that’s not even touching Gedrosia.” Once again, Iskandar had possessed no response, no defense, no counter to speak of against the statement. If anything, he’d agreed with the boy: the less said about the failure that had been Gedrosia the better. Saying nothing, Iskandar had instead let out yet another sigh, rolled his head and waited for the boy to continue. He was the King of Conquerors. with his own darker actions, with the eggs he’d cracked during his life. Even so, there were still moments; occasions where he could not stop himself from wondering at the number of lives he had trampled; at the amount corpses he’d stepped over in pursuit of that endless, impossible ocean; at how many of those sacrifices had truly been necessary and whether any of them had truly been worth it in the end._

_Even so, how could he, the King of Conquerors, voice such a thing aloud? How could he concede to his own fallibility? How could he accept and acknowledge his doubts when the very act of doubt was tantamount to defeat? He would not. He could not afford such things, even with this strange chance at a second life. He could not…_

_His own thoughts had preoccupied him so that he’d almost missed the boy’s next words. “To win without killing, to conquer without humiliating…” The familiar creed, though slurred by exhaustion, had drawn a faint hum of acknowledgement from Iskandar. The words had carried no sting, no reproach, no bite that Iskandar had come to expect from the boy. He’d said nothing, simply waited to be called a tyrant and a hypocrite who could not have been bothered to heed his own words._

_(But instead…)_

_“Is that why you want to reincarnate so badly? So you could actually follow your own advice this time?” And as his voice trailed off, the boy had slumped against him, eyes closed, hair falling into his face, Iskandar was left near stunned at the questions. Briefly, Iskandar had wondered exactly when the boy had figured it out. Had it been during the banquet when he’d first admitted his desire for reincarnation? Their conversation beside the river earlier that very day? Some indeterminable point between now and his summons into this world? He’d been half tempted to rouse the boy from his slumber, shake him awake and demand an answer._

_And yet, Iskandar had felt his mouth tilt into a sheepish grin as he’d reached around to brush that dark hair away from his Master’s face before leaning against the wall, closing his own eyes, and allowed himself to be pulled into sleep by the sound of deep, relaxed breaths and the warmth of another, smaller body still pressed against his side._

_“Well, something like that…”_

__

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Iskandar blinked, and blinked again, trying to bring his mind into some state of awareness.  
  
_I should get up…_ He thought as he reached up to rub the back of a hand against his eyes.

 _I should get up…_ He tried to picture his legs moving, shifting beneath him to land on the floor and carry him out of the room. Alas, it was no use; they were still heavy from the weight of lingering sleep. Seeing little other options, Iskandar simply allowed himself to lie there, arm draped across his eyes as he finally attempted to reflect in some manner on his most recent dream, the most recent memory that had been returned to him.

_Is that why you want to reincarnate so badly?_

“I wonder what gave it away?” He murmured to the empty room with a hesitant smile. It was somewhat odd, truth be told, that he was even smiling at all. to have his mistakes laid bare, made to face his own fallibility and shame by one who had not leaped at the opportunity to believe his words. He would not have expected such a thing to feel refreshing, almost relieving. And yet, the smile remained on Iskandar’s face as he finally managed to sit upright and swing his legs over the side of the bed. For all his weediness, for all his feigned arrogance and outward immaturity at points, the boy had been right in the end. About his desire for a second conquest, about his desire for a chance to truly live up to everything he’d tried to embody as the King of Conquerors. _Win without killing, conquer without humiliating. Glory lies beyond the horizon. Challenge it, because it is unreachable._

He’d failed back then. And given the strange nature of the current Grail War, if it could even be called as such, he would find neither the means nor the method for achieving his goals in Chaldea. Were he the same man he’d been in his first life, Iskandar supposed that would have been enough to convince him to end his contract with Ritsuka, to return to the Throne of Heroes and wait until the next, hopefully more conventional Holy Grail War. It may have been tempting, were it not for the fact that, admittedly, he actually _liked_ this simple existence he’d managed to find with the various other occupants of Chaldea. He liked the time spent with Ritsuka and Mash, with Romani and DaVinci and the Strategi- Lord El-Melloi II, and the other strange, intriguing comrades he’d found and he found himself reluctant to imagine a time where their mission was over and their contracts terminated.

 _Perhaps, once this is over…_ He mused, standing and strolling towards the door. _Perhaps, I could convince Ritsuka to continue our contract somehow…_ Perhaps he could convince her to accompany him on a journey outside Chaldea. Perhaps the Shield Girl could come as well. Perhaps even the Strategist, Lord El-Melloi II. Perhaps they could find his former Master. Perhaps…

It had only been several days since his visit with the Physician and DaVinci, but more and more were returning to him. It seemed that simply being aware of them hastened their pace, perhaps it was something else, something to do with those branches and paths DaVinci had been talking about. In any case, he welcomed their return and found great delight in recounting them to either the King of Heroes, or to Ritsuka. His final stand on the bridge, the battle on the river, the hospitality of Glen and Martha Mackenzie, the wonder of experiencing Fuyuki City for the first time, all of them returned and welcomed into his memory with open arms. Even so, there were still many gaps, things that he could not remember. Regardless of how he focused on them, they eluded his grasp. Above all, much to Iskandar’s chagrin, he could barely recall any details about what he even looked like. He could remember their talks, their conversations, the feeling of his head or back beneath his palm. And yet, nothing about the boy’s appearance, his face, Hell, even the boy’s _name_ still eluded him.

At the thought of the boy, of his former Master he could barely remember, a bitter feeling rose in Iskandar’s throat. The smile slid off his face as he paused, eyes roaming to the window and the bright, nightless landscape lit by a sun never set.

 _If the world is burning out there, then…_ He shook his head and tried to recall his previous conversation with the Stra- With Lord El-Melloi II, regarding the topic.

“We’re going to set things right.” He allowed himself a small, yet no less determined murmur. That was Chaldea’s sole mission after all; restore proper Human History. And once that was over, once the Incineration of Humanity had been halted, he’d convince Ritsuka to help him find his Master. And with the thought cemented in his mind, Iskandar squared his shoulders and continued on his way towards the Cafeteria. He entered, searched for an open table and after barely a minute or two of searching, a familiar mop of dark hair caught his eye.

“May I join you for breakfast, Strategist?” Iskandar waved with a grin and began striding over. The reaction was instantaneous; Lord El-Melloi II stood, leaving his plates and unfinished breakfast behind, and strode out of the Cafeteria with barely a glance back towards Iskandar.

Ah yes… There had been that little issue…

It seemed as though the Stra- Lord El-Mello-(To Hell with it, he’d never break that habit now..) The Strategist had taken to avoiding Iskandar. At first, the King had simply thought the man was busy, that there was much work to be done. And yet, it did not seem to matter what Iskandar tried, whatever topic he attempted to broach with the Strategist, he would simply turn tail and flee whenever he and Iskandar so much as noticed each other in the Halls.

“I believe I’ve gotten the hang of that “Admirable War Tactics” game. Would you care to partake in a duel later this evening?”

“It’s been a while since we’ve been in battle Strategist. Perhaps we could convince her to take us along next time!”

“Hey, Strategist!”

“Strategist?”

And so it went for several days. Every time, the Strategist would flee without so much as an answer and Iskandar was left with a bitter feeling in his gut afterwards. Really, why should he be worked up over whatever was causing the Professor to behave so strangely? He was a grown man, not only capable of solving his own problems, but apparently insistent on doing so, as well as whatever other problems Chaldea brought up. Besides, it was not as though Iskandar was starved for companionship simply because one Servant had apparently decided to ignore him. He still found time to drink and share stories with the King of Heroes from time to time. Gilgamesh had even begun to allow Fergus and several other Servants to join in. So what if the Strategist refused his invitations? He would be fine, right? There was no need for Iskandar to continue seeking him out like some attention-starved pup, right?

It was around the time when he was debating the pros and cons of cornering the Strategist in some deserted hallway and demanding an explanation that Ritsuka called the both of them out to the Field.

“You’re sure we’re up for this?” Mash asked, heaving her shield and pausing to look around at the barren landscape. They’d found themselves in some sort of desert today, one of rock and hard earth rather than sand and drifting dunes. At the head of their little party, Ritsuka shrugged nonchalantly.

“Well, Berserkers are weak to everything, right? With the Professor backing up Iskandar and you on defense, it should be a breeze.” The declaration drew a small gasp from the Shield Girl accompanied by a smile brimming with sincere pride.

“Senpai! You actually got your Class Affinities straight this time!” Ritsuka answered Mash with a smile of her own, obviously proud of herself, and Iskandar could no longer contain his laughter.

“Indeed!” He called out, stopping Bucephalus as they caught up to the two girls. “So long as our guards remain up, there should be no trouble!” Their Master nodded before glancing behind her shoulder at the final member of their party. The Strategist had lagged behind and was currently scanning the horizon for any sign of an enemy. Not once had he spoken up or pointed out any flaws in Ritsuka’s plans or observations of their situation. If anything, he looked like he was trying to stay as far away from the group as possible. Certainly not the behavior a tactician of his caliber should be exhibiting…

“Hey, Iskandar?” A small tug on his mantle brought his attention downwards to where Ritsuka was standing. “You ought to bring up the rear. Mash and I can handle things over here.”

“Are you certain, girl?” She nodded once before giving an insistent jerk of her chin towards the Strategist. Sighing, Iskandar gave a tug on Bucephalus’ reins, slowing the great steed until they were level with the Strategist. The Caster simply continued to stare out at the horizon, either not noticing the rather large horse and rider at his side or simply ignoring them. Iskandar let his eyes roam over the Strategist’s form, taking in the other man’s lank hair, the dark circles under his eyes, the way his shoulders appeared weighed down by something. “You look horrible.” Iskandar had not realized he’d spoken out loud until the Strategist responded with a glare. His eyebrows furrowed, mouth slanted into a pout and the sight looked so familiar that Iskandar couldn’t help but answer with a smile.

“I haven’t been sleeping well as of late. That’s all.” The Caster grumbled and looked away as Iskandar felt the grin slide off his face.

“Searching through records?” He didn’t reply, but Iskandar could glean an answer by the way the Strategist’s entire frame seemed to tense with guilt. “You know, the Physician and DaVinci said there was nothing to worry about.”

“I know, but there’s now harm in being thorough.”

“You don’t trust their judgement?”

“Don’t be ridiculous. Of course I do.” The Strategist snapped back, bringing a hand up to pinch the bridge of his nose. “I just think it’s better to be safe than sorry.”

“And you think depriving yourself or rest is safe?” Iskandar asked, leaning forward towards the Strategist. “You should have stayed behind in that case.” The Caster merely chuckled and rolled his eyes.

“Ritsuka has a tendency to overwork some Servants more than others. I’ll be fine.” Well that wouldn’t do. Iskandar could see exactly what would happen if he allowed this to continue further; they’d travel in awkward silence until they found the Berserkers Ritsuka was talking about, defeated them, and return to Chaldea where the Strategist would continue ignoring and avoiding him unti lskandar was driven mad. With that in mind, he saw no point in beating around the bush whatsoever.

“Strategist?” Nothing. Clearing his throat, Iskandar tried once more, just a little louder. “Lord El-Melloi II…” It was either the volume of his voice or the use of his proper name that caused the Strategist to turn around and face Iskandar, eyebrows raised in curiosity. Perhaps it was due to the fact that this was the first time in several days that the Strategist had actually looked him in the eye, or perhaps it was some other, unknown cause, but Iskandar felt his chest tighten out of nowhere and he found himself needing to pause before continuing. No beating around the bush. “Have I offended you in some way?” The other man’s eyes widened for the briefest of seconds before he whirled around, facing away from the King and his Mount before replying.

“No, what would give you that idea?” Iskandar rolled his shoulders and tried to contain a frustrated sigh. What else could he possibly think after the past few days?

“Ever since you insisted I allow myself to be examined, it seems as though you’ve been making a considerable effort to avoid me.”

“Well, I assure you that wasn’t my intention.” His words were tight and tense, almost as though he wanted to talk about anything else in that very moment.

“You’re certain?” Iskandar asked the back of the Strategist’s head. The other man had not turned around once.

“Yes. Besides, what reason would I have to avoid my colleagues?” The Strategist replied and from his clipped tone and the way he quickened his pace forward, Iskandar got the feeling the conversation was finished. Something something couldn’t quite shake the feeling that something about the other man’s reply was off in some indistinct way. Had it been something in his tone? Something in the way he’d carried himself throught their conversation? Something in his words? His words…

In hindsight, it was such a small thing, a small detail that should not have been worth a second thought to anyone else and yet that one choice of words stuck out. “Colleagues, the Strategist had called them. It was not an inaccurate term to be sure. If anything, it was almost _too_ accurate of a description. And even so… Colleagues, teammates, comrades, accurate terms to be sure, but they almost felt too distant, too detached and aloof. And none of those terms could ever describe Iskandar’s thoughts about the Strategist. Regardless of the other man’s avoidance of him, regardless of Iskandar’s current condition, regardless of anything else, the Strategist was his friend.

And Iskandar actually missed him.

He almost told the Strategist as such, but Mash’s voice rose in a sharp cry that stole both their attention with two simple words.

“They’re coming!” Iskandar urged Bucephalus forward, the Strategist not too far behind. They were almost level with the two girls when the sounds of yowls reached his ears. More Soul Eaters? But these were meant to be Berserkers, so-

And then Iskandar felt his stomach drop at the sight of the enemies in front of him. There were five of them, maws gaping with growls and snarls spilling out of them along with fetid breath. In the place of tails, each beast had a serpent, and from the creature’s back sprang yet another head, horned and menacing as a demon from Tartarus. Iskandar knew these creatures. And judging from the way Ritsuka tensed beside him, she knew of them as well.

“These are-”

“Chimeras.” Iskandar murmured, glancing down at his Master. “Are you sure you wish to partake in this battle girl?” As if in response, Ritsuka tugged her gloves tighter around her hands, her Command Seals glowing as she squared her shoulders and clenched her jaw in anticipation.

“No turning back now. Get ready!” No sooner had she spoken the words than the nearest Chimera leapt, lunging towards the group, only to find its path blocked by Mash and her shield. It leapt back, gathered itself for another leap only for a column of flame to erupt beneath its feet and send it reeling back, yowling in pain. Barely a second later, Bucephalus surged forward, ramming his entire body into the Chimera, pushing it back towards the other members of its pack where it crumbled into dust. They didn’t give the party a moments rest as the others pounced.

The beasts themselves would have fallen easily were it not for their numbers. Four should have been no problem for Iskandar, the Shield Girl, or even the Strategist, but four Chimeras was another story altogether. It seemed the party had gotten lucky earlier, catching the first one off guard. The rest were more wary and the battle seemed to continue for ages because of it. The blows Iskandar exchanged, blocked and landed on them seemed to make no difference to the creatures in front of them and before long, he found himself growing exhausted. That may have been the reason one of them managed to dart past him, ignoring the shrill scream of Bucephalus and barreling straight towards-

“Mash, cover the Professor!” The Chimera collided with the Shield, leaping away as three beams of light caught its belly and sent the creature tumbling into the dirt. From behind Mash’s defenses, the bedraggled head of the Strategist popped out to glare daggers towards their Master.

“Really? Chimeras?!” Ritsuka paused, sent a cursed towards an approaching Chimera, then immediately returned the Strategist’s frown with one of her own.

“Hey it’s not my fault Romani didn’t give me anything else! All I heard was “Berserkers” so I figured-”

The Chimera pounced on her without warning; claws and teeth digging into her shoulder as its serpent tail curled around towards her face, mouth open, rancid breath exhaled in a noxious cloud and as Iskandar plunged his lance into the beast’s side he saw Ritsuka go limp.

“Ritsuka!” The creature ignored Iskandar and reared its head back, jaws gaping wide, ready for one last bite that would end Ritsuka Fujimaru’s life. Barely a second later, it flew back, away from Ritsuka. Perhaps it was because of the wind that the Strategist had sent slicing towards it. Or perhaps it was because of the edge of the shield that had bashed into its face. In any case, a final thrust of Iskandar’s spear had it crumbling into dark dust. He only spared it a second’s glance before wheeling around to find the Strategist kneeling over Ritsuka, Mash standing above them with her shield raised in preparation for another potential attack.

“Is she alright?” She shot a glance over her shoulder as Iskandar pulled up beside them. He caught a glimpse of little more than blood; blood soaked into her clothing, matted in her hair and staining the ground before a deafening roar ripped his attention away. A swing of his sword sent one of the remaining Chimera’s flying backwards only for another to leap forward in its place. This was bad. This was very bad. Iskandar swung once more, sword carving a red line through the flesh of the beast. It howled in pain and sprung backwards. Injured, but alive.

“She’s unconscious, but still kicking.” The Strategist stood, Ritsuka hanging in his arms as he rushed towards Iskandar. Mash followed, ensuring that no Chimeras could attack. “You and Mash will have to take her. Get as far away as you can.” Iskandar could only blink, not realizing the Strategist’s workds were meant for him until the Caster reached up and slung Ritsuka across his steed’s back.

“Hold it.” The Strategist paid no mind to him, instead turning to address the Shielder.  
“Mash, if you ditch the shield, you should be able to keep up with Bucephalus. I’ll cover your escape, don’t argue. Once you’ve lost them-”

“Wait a moment-”

“You’ll have to contact Dr. Roman and DaVinci for an emergency Rayshift back to-”

“Boy!” The word was barked out, almost on instinct and the Strategist paused in his rambling to turn and regard Iskandar with raised eyebrows. “The King of Conquerors does _not_ retreat!”

“Then charge in reverse you idiot!” The Caster fired right back with a glare that froze any protest Iskandar could have offered. “You can’t Rayshift back if enemies are closing in on you and with Bucephalus you’ve got the best chance of-” He cut himself off just in time to send another gust of wind careening towards the Chimera that had been bounding towards them. “Get out of here and be quick about it!” It didn’t sit right with Iskandar, turning tail and running away. But then he glanced down at Ritsuka, limp, bleeding and breathing weakly while draped across Bucephalus, not moving. They could stand a chance against these creatures, with or without a Master. But with four Chimeras bearing down on them…

With a sharp kick and cry, the great horse reared, twisted, and began to bolt away from the roaring creatures as though Hell itself was at their heels. It wasn’t a retreat, Iskandar was not running away. This was a… What had the Strategist called it? A charge in reverse. An extraction. While he had no doubt that the Chimeras would have eventually fallen, the real question was about _when_ they would fall. With Ritsuka in her current condition, that was simply time they couldn’t afford to lose. Swallowing hard, Iskandar glanced to the side for the briefest of seconds and found Mash, shield gone, running as fast as she could, expression worried and tense.

“How are you faring, girl?” She replied with a quick nod, eyes trained on the slack form of Ritsuka.

“I’m alright. Is Senpai-” A grating howl reached their ears followed by the sound of flames roaring to life behind them. Seemed the Strategist was keeping his word after all. Another bellow sounded, then another and another. Iskandar only meant to cast a brief look over his shoulder, only meant to check on the other man and continue his retreat ( _charge in reverse…_ ) immediately afterwards. He’d said so himself earlier; Ritsuka couldn’t afford the time it would take to fight and defeat these foes. And yet when he saw the Strategist keeping two Chimeras at bay with a combination of wind and flames, saw the third creature, legs bunched, muscles gathered, jaw open in a snarl-

He couldn’t shout a warning. It was too late. It had been too late from the moment he turned around and his stomach dropped at the image that seemed to hang suspended in front of him.

By the time he turned Bucephalus completely around, the beast, the monster, had already leapt.

By the time he opened his mouth, the beast’s claws and fangs were already tearing into the Strategist.

By the time he managed to produce a sound, neither a warning nor a battle-cry but a desperate, raging scream ripped from his throat as reality rippled around them and rocks gave way to dunes, the Strategist’s blood was pooling on the ground and the other Chimeras were closing in, maws gaping, claws outstretched.

“ **WAVER!** ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me: Okay, for this chapter, I'm going to capture the internal vulnerability felt by a man who committed pretty horrible acts but still tries to embody an ideal of living without regrets even though he has plenty TO regret and show how he started to acknowledge this and shift into becoming a slightly better person!  
> Me: ...  
> Me: Oh FUCK I'm going to have to capture the emotional vulnerability felt by a man who committed pretty horrible acts but still tries to embody the ideal of living without regrets even though he has plenty TO regret and show how he started to acknowledge this and shift into becoming a slightly better person…  
> Yeah.. I'm not sure if this counts as character development or character derailment... My take on Iskandar is… kind of complicated to explain coherently. He's aware of some of the pretty terrible deeds he committed in the past (there was no evidence Parmenion was in on Philotas' assassination plot and from what I can tell the only thing Cleitus did wrong was insult him when he was drunk…) and he's aware of it and somewhere deep, DEEP down, he does regret how things turned out in the end. But at the same time, he kind of got too caught up in his own hype as "the King of Conquerors" and the philosophy of "I may mourn and grieve but I will never regret" to actually admit it. Hence the desire for reincarnation: he wants to do things "right" this time because he didn't exactly do it right the first time. The whole bit at the beginning is basically Waver catching onto all that, holding up a mirror and going "Dude, you fucked up. Admit it." I guess... I'm still not sure I managed to get that down in writing...  
> Anyway, enough with the character analysis, it's time for the special thanks! Shoutouts go to Lintella, Saalej, vicspeaks, Lycheeluv, schroedingersfox, Sziszimora, TetsumiMae, ebonypol, and Maryke for their comments on the last chapter! Thanks also go out to guests and members alike who left kudos! Thanks for reading and I'll see you in the next chapter!


	14. The Game

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> El-Melloi dies, travels to some kind of afterlife and plays a board game not unlike chess.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And the real Zhuge Liang makes an appearance at last. We don't get too much characterization for him in game, so I made an attempt in a previous fic, "The Devil Went Down to Shu Han" and I tried to follow that characterization in this chapter as well. He's kind of like the typical Mage you'd likely find in the Clock-Tower; pretty self-important and a _magnificent_ bastard who's earned that title thank you very much. I'm going to try and focus on finishing "They Remain" and "Carabosse" for good before updating with the next chapter, so hang in there just a little longer! Thanks for sticking around and I hope you enjoy the chapter!

When Lord El-Melloi II opened his eyes, he was somewhat surprised to find himself sitting in a very peculiar place. He also supposed that he shouldn’t really be that surprised, considering how things had turned out after all, and instead looked around the landscape. The sky above him was vast, blue, and covered with golden clouds that were reflected in the ocean underneath his feet. In various places in the distance, he could just make out several tall, thin mountains, even though they were partially obscured by mist, and he even spotted a cluster of tents. It was a strange sight, as though an attempt had been made to meld two vastly differing landscapes into a single image. But instead of mixing and blending together into a single cohesive image, they’d simply been made to sit on the same canvas, incongruent elements forced to occupy the same space. Still, it was a sight that El-Melloi had seen before and one he was sure to see again during his tenure at Chaldea. Well damn. Heaving an impatient sigh, El-Melloi strode towards a cluster of tents and braced himself. _He’d_ likely be in the largest one, closer towards the center, a bit more put together than the others. No sooner had he approached the flap than a voice called out from within the structure. 

“You may enter.” El-Melloi grumbled something about how he’d been about to enter, whether the other party gave their permission or not, and slipped inside. 

“And why have you summoned me here this time?” For the longest time, El-Melloi hadn’t been able to pin down exactly what was so unnerving about the Heroic Spirit in front of him. At first, he’d thought it was the sense of superior smugness that radiated from him, reminding El-Melloi of almost every other Lord he’d had the displeasure of interacting with. Or perhaps it had been the fact that, once again, he was forced to rely on others, someone with greater abilities and power than his to maintain his very existence as a Servant of Chaldea. It hadn’t really occurred to him until more recently that he could not, not even for the life of him, describe the man’s face in detail. And even so, the smirk on the man’s undefinable features was evident as he placed his cup back on the table and regarded El-Melloi. 

“You’re dead, boy. I had little to do with the summons itself.” Of course he was dead. He’d figured as much. Three Chimeras was a bit much for him to handle on his own, and he doubted Mash or Iskandar would have been able to intervene in time. He hoped they hadn’t tried to intervene. His demise was mutable, easily reversed through some process of Magecraft Chaldea employed. He suspected it had something to do with intercepting spirits before they could return to the Throne of Heroes in some way or another and the entire idea that Servants could fall in battle only to end up returned to Chaldea was rather intriguing. But, then he remembered the thing about Magecraft; the less a process is understood, the better. 

In the meantime, the man at the head of the table He then gestured to the board that had most certainly not been on the table when El-Melloi had entered. Oh fuck, this again… “I simply thought you would care to partake in a game before you depart?” El-Melloi answered the smirk with a tired groan. He was in no mood for this, not today and not right after he’d died. But if he knew the other man, he would not be allowed to leave until the tactician was satisfied. 

“You just want to lord your superiority over me again, don’t you?” He sank down across the table as a second cup, full to the brim with fragrant tea, appeared as though it had been sitting there all along. The smell made El-Melloi’s nose wrinkle slightly. He would have preferred Earl Grey… 

“What superiority?” The tactician’s smile grew slightly tense as he slid a piece forward across the board. Red Cannon, B3 to E3. Not a bad opening move… “Remember that it was you who bested the Great Tactician of Shu Han during our first encounter?” El-Melloi nodded, glancing at the pieces on his side of the board. Zhuge Liang may not have forgiven him for the defeat, but it seemed to do the tactician some good. He was actually looking at the board this time. Red Cannon, B3 to E3… With an opening like that he could… 

“I sincerely apologize for that.” Black Horse, B10 to C8. “Though I am curious; was it inadequacy or simple laziness that caused you to require me as a vessel?” El-Melloi glanced up to find that Liang’s smile had dropped off his face. If he were a more naive man, he would have thought that the other man was outright pouting. 

“You could show a bit more gratitude.” He replied. Red Soldier, C4 to C5. “It is entirely due to my sacrifice that you are able to exist like this in the first place.” 

“I could say the same for you.” Black Chariot, I10 to I5, capture Red Soldier. “Besides, only one willing to ride into battle alongside their soldiers can be worthy of calling themselves my Master. Perhaps that’s why I’ve never enjoyed your summons.” Liang’s reply was instantaneous. Red Chariot, B1 to B5.

“And yet you are the one hiding behind the words of a greater man.” Rather than dignify the remark with an earnest response, El-Melloi opted to try and bore a hole into the board with his gaze.   
  
“Have you called me just so we could play games and insult each other?” Black Soldier, A6 to A5. It was Liang’s turn to roll his eyes impatiently. 

“I’ve already told you; you’re dead. I figured I would grace you with some wisdom before you returned to the waking world.” And of course the man dispensing that advice would be the one who hadn’t interacted with the real world directly since who knew when.

“I appreciate the offer, but I’m not interested in any advice.” At that, Liang gave a chuckle and reached out to make his move. 

“I’m simply telling you that it would be wise to abandon ventures that are unlikely to ever bear fruit.” Red Soldier, A4 to A5. Capture Black Soldier. “Such things will only cause you misery and fuss in the future.” Once more, El-Melloi couldn’t help but roll his eyes. It sounded as though the man was trying to become a fortune teller as opposed to a tactician, complete with vague predictions that told him almost nothing of importance. 

“If you’d like to dictate how I spend my time, you’re welcome to try and take over.” Black Chariot, B10 to B9. “Besides that, what are you even-” 

“Your pursuit of Rider.” The words froze El-Melloi in place and he glanced up to meet Liang’s eyes as he held a Red Chariot between his fingers. The tactician’s smirk widened and he placed the piece from C7 to C8. “I admit, I found your struggles somewhat amusing at first, but now it’s just gotten pitiful.” Pitiful he said. The remark stings a bit and El-Melloi can’t help but bristle at it. Liang wasn’t wrong though, and that was the worst part. Pining after a man who’d been dead for a decade, what else could he be but pitiful? 

“That’s…” His hands faltered, slightly trembling over the board. He may have been pitiful and maybe he’d been pining a little. But pursuing? El-Melloi had to wonder where the hell Liang had even gotten the idea from in the first place, especially given his behavior the past few weeks. “I’m not even pursuing him.” Black Cannon, B8 to B7. Liang’s smirk remained as El-Melloi claimed the Red Chariot. 

“But you want to.” The Caster clenched his teeth and fought against the temptation to respond to the scathing remark. Red Soldier, C6 to C7. He was running out of options. Black Cannon, B7 to B6.  
  
“And what exactly do you mean when you say “fuss and misery” and whatnot?” Liang nodded, folded his arms and lifted his gaze from the board to peer at El-Melloi with narrowed eyes. 

“To begin, any companionship you pursue will inevitably end once the goals of Chaldea are met.” His eyes narrowed even further, scrutinizing the Caster as though trying to pick up on his most miniscule reactions. He nodded once before continuing. “No matter how Servants feel about each other, or their Master, those feelings and memories of time spent together are lost once we return to the Throne of Heroes.” Another pause, followed by a sneer and Liang reached out once more. Red Soldier, A5 to A6. “Or rather, once _I_ return to the Throne and _you_ return to wherever it is you came from.” He leaned back again, still self-important and smiling as though he’d caught the other man in some sort of logical trap. Really, the whole thing was ridiculous at this point. 

“You aren’t wrong,” El-Melloi sighed and reached a hand out towards the board. “but the same could be said of any relationship, romantic or otherwise.” Black Chariot, F3 to G3. “People are destined to be torn apart by forces outside of their control. Personal differences, physical distance, death… And yet, no human being has let that stop them from pursuing companionship to the best of my knowledge.” With folded arms, El-Melloi leaned away from the table, fixing Zhuge Liang with a hard stare. The other man’s smile had not dropped an inch. “Your next point?” 

“He is not your Rider.” Red Cannon E3 to E7.

“I know.” Black Elephant, G6 to E8.

“Of course you do. You of all people should be aware how summoning works. The Rider summoned to Chaldea is little more than a copy of the Rider you knew in the Holy Grail War.” Liang paused and placed a finger to his chin, carefully considering his next move. “If you’ll allow me to return to my previous point, Chaldea’s mission will eventually end, the proper Heroic Spirits will return to the Throne and you will be right back where you began.” El-Melloi simply stared at the board, waiting for Liang’s next move, preparing to counter.

“All the more reason to enjoy the time that we’re given in the here and now, wouldn’t you agree?” Given the twitch of Liang’s brow and the way his fingers moved over the board, he did not agree. “I’m well aware of how summoning works, as you pointed out. I’m well aware that he isn’t my Rider.” Even now, long after he’d accepted the fact, the words still brought a dull ache to his chest and he had to pause and swallow the lump in his throat before he could continue. “But he’s still Iskandar. He’s still the man I swore allegiance to. That’s all that really matters.” Even with the words ringing clearly in his hears, El-Melloi sighed and closed his eyes in frustration. As far as he could see, the match was destined for a stalemate. Liang had made his arguments, El-Melloi had rebuked them and they were no closer to reaching a consensus than when he’d first brought up the ridiculous idea. If he didn’t get out of here soon enough, Liang would likely keep him there, in this strange shared landscape for God only knew how long. It was time for him to go. The Caster moved to stand, addressing the Tactician for one last time. “Now, if that’s all you have to say-” The clack of a piece hitting the lacquered wood of the game board cut him off. 

“Have you considered the possibility that your feelings are, and have always been one sided?” The words froze El-Melloi to the core and he opened his eyes to find that Liang’s smirk had turned from merely condescending to something almost cruel. “Have you considered that your time with Rider meant more to you than it did to him?” The tactician continued to smirk as he withdrew his hand from the board.

“I have.” El-Melloi replied, making no move to return to his seat. Instead, he swallowed once more and fought to keep his gaze steady. “But I did not choose to follow him out of the hope that any kind of relationship would result from it. I follow him with the devotion of a retainer for his king and friend. I would have thought you would appreciate such loyalty.” It had been a knee-jerk response; easily torn down if you gave it enough thought. It was time for El-Melloi to leave. “If you’ll excuse me-” 

“Then why have you not divulged your identity yet?” He froze again and it was rather obvious at that point that the Caster would not be leaving anytime soon, not until Liang had torn apart every detail of what El-Melloi had been telling himself the past few weeks. The man sat back down and the Tacitican’s smirk widened. “If you were such a loyal vassal as you claim, why did you not make that known the second you saw he had been summoned? If you do not desire reciprocity, why do you almost seem reluctant to make your feelings and your relation to him known?” The line of questions were met with silence and Liang leaned forward to deliver the final blow. “Simple. You are afraid.” It was only a small flinch, a barely perceptible twinge in his shoulders, the tiniest clench of his jaw. Barely noticeable to the naked eye, but to the spirit sitting across from him, they were likely as visible as an exaggerated gasp and look of horror. “So long as they remain unvoiced, ephemeral and unreal, you can continue to cling to the hope that they are possibly returned, that you are important to him. But once given voice and substance, how are you going to pretend otherwise? What will you have left to shield you from the truth that you mean almost nothing to the man who means everything to you? That you are merely another piece in that collection he calls a Hetairoi?” Liang propped his chin on his hand and regarded El-Melloi with that infuriating, self-assured smile. “And how do you expect me to believe the validity of any of your previous answers when you yourself hardly believe them?” The line of queries was met with little more than silence and after several moments occupied by El-Melloi saying nothing and staring at the board. He’d moved his Chariot to C10. That was Checkmate… The smirk on Liang’s face widened ever so subtly. “Well?” He asked. “No rebuttals? Isn’t this the part where you tell me that everything I just said was wrong?” And Liang sat back once more and left El-Melloi wondering just how he ought to respond, which answer he could possibly give. What number of responses he could counter with. He had none, no way of arguing or refuting anything the Tactician had said.

“You’re right.” The two measly syllables somehow managed to wipe the grin right off Liang’s face. Black General, E10 to F10. He wasn’t even sure why he’d gone with such a maneuver. It was futile, pointless. Liang had already earned his checkmate. At this point, the Caster had simply thrown himself to the smirking wolf across from him. Even so, part of him was tired of letting these things go unacknowledged, even if it meant admitting his own pitifulness while another slightly smaller part, couldn’t resist the urge to figuratively take everything Liang had thrown at him and spit it all back in his face. “I’m struggling to uphold the legacy of a mad tyrant, these feelings are pointless in the grand scheme of things, they’re more than likely unrequited, and I find the very idea to be terrifying. You’re right about everything.” He finished by folding his arms and lifting his chin to gaze at the other man with the strongest glare he could muster. “And what about it?”

Liang paused at first, then reacted exactly as El-Melloi had expected him to; with a curious tilt of his head and nothing more than a small muttered “Oh?” as though willing the Caster to elaborate.

So he did.

“Everything you said is true, I know that everything you said is true, I’ve known it from the beginning.” He’d known it before coming to Chaldea, before becoming El-Melloi II, before his Servant, his friend, his Iskandar had gone and done something as cruel as ordering him to live on. Someone like him hadn’t been worth it then, he doubted he was worth it now. “And yet, through all these years, none of that has changed the fact that I’m in love with Rider.”

It seemed almost easy, in hindsight, to admit such things out loud to the man who had once tried to take over his very existence when he was still reluctant to tell those he considered friends, something he'd barely acknowledged himself. Then again, it wasn’t like Liang was going to go running his mouth any time soon. The tactician answered with a short bark of laughter before reaching out over the board. Red Chariot, C10 to D10. Capture Black General. Checkmate.

“No, I suppose it doesn’t.” He replied before laughing again and giving El-Melloi a dismissive wave of his hand. “What a senseless, masochistic Vessel you turned out to be!” And the Caster ouldn’t help but return the smile with one of his own.

“And what an indolent free-loader you turned out to be.” He stood, knees aching slightly and briefly noted that the game-board seemed to have vanished from the table. Liang had been satisfied for the time being. It was time to head home. “Now if you’ll excuse me.” And without another word, without even pausing to see if his insult had reached the tactician, Lord El-Melloi IIturned on his heel and strode out into the tent as the mountains, oceans and campsite around him faded to white.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> El-Melloi just can't catch a break, can he? You gotta go down before you go up I guess. I know I mentioned it in the beginning notes, but I've gotten a bit attached to Zhuge Liang as a sort of smarmy arrogant asshole, but he can actually back up that smarminess and arrogance. On a more technical note, I tried to integrate some of the "death is cheap" mechanics in the game. It'll be explained a bit more in detail in the next chapter, but the gist of it is that Servants who die in the field get sent back to Chaldea with a bit of Quartz. Given Ritsuka's condition in "The Monsters" however... I also had to brush up on Xiangqi rules for this chapter again, so that was actually pretty fun! And yes, the Chariot piece popping up a lot in the game was definitely on purpose. In any case, time for the special thanks! Shoutouts go to schroedingersfox, TetsumiMae, Oceloter, vicspeaks, Lintella, IvoryKeen, Aamu16, Necromancer, Slades_Snowflakes, Nikkirain25, and Euca for their comments on the previous chapter! Thanks also go out to guests and members alike who left kudos! Thanks for reading and I hope you enjoy the next chapter: in which we finally see what Iskandar's gotten up to since remembering Waver's name. (I'm expecting a lot of annoyed groans the way things are going...)

**Author's Note:**

> I believe I mentioned somewhere before that I got dragged back into Fate. Well that was because I saw fit to marathon the entirety of Fate/Zero on Netflix. Needless to say, Team Rider came for my heart, my soul, and my wig. So I had a though; let’s write a story where these two reunite, and let’s make it as deliciously painful as possible. Hope you enjoy!


End file.
